The Captain America Campaign
by LadyCeruleanBlue
Summary: As a Public Affairs Officer, Joan Phillips finds it hard to believe that her entire family kept an organization called SHIELD from her for her entire life - including her hero, Captain America. When she's assigned to be his PR Agent and watch him for PTSD symptoms, she's thrust into the world of the Avengers.
1. Public Affairs Officer

**Longer chapters are to come. I had an idea for this story, but the timeline was so stretched out. Still, it makes an interesting read! For all of my old followers, thanks for coming back! For the newbies, thanks for taking a chance! Joan has a long road ahead of her, but I hope you'll keep following.**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own anything involving Marvel/Disney/United States Military.**

* * *

 **Public Affairs Officer**

The Public Affairs Officer (PAO) is responsible for developing a working relationship with reporters and other media representatives, maintaining a robust community relations program, keeping contact with other government agencies, and keeping internal and external publics informed on issues that may affect them. Known as "PAO's" for short, they are expected to coordinate with the appropriate agencies prior to contacting and releasing information to the media on conditions that might result in favorable or unfavorable public reaction, including releases and public statements involving local, regional and national news.

Public Affairs Officers are responsible for preparing information relative to unit participation in military operations, world events, and environmental matters through news releases, special activities, photographs, radio and television, and other informational material. They also review materials such as speeches, news articles, and radio and television shows for security policy review and integration with the objectives of the military, and determine appropriate topics.

They produce speeches and act as ghost writers for commanders, often completely developing a commander's public persona.

Additionally, Public Affairs Officers oversee the production of base newspapers, magazines, and internal information produced by enlisted Public Affairs specialists that include coordinating media visits (if possible) and writing stories to share with fellow deployed personnel as well as audiences back home, both military and civilian.


	2. 06 May 2010, 1434 Hours: Afghanistan

**6 May 2010  
** **1434 hours  
Kunar Province, Afghanistan**

"I feel like you're driving me to a court-martial. This is crazy. What did I do?"

I chuckled under my breath and kept steering down the road, nothing but a deserted desert sea and one more humvee out in front of us. Kunar Province, Afghanistan wasn't the most beautiful area that I'd ever been deployed to, but it was at least safe enough for Tony Stark, the weapons-dealer himself, to come out and do a weapons demonstration.

It'd been amazing. I'd always been interested in weapons and watching his demonstration had been beautiful. I didn't want to be on the other side of the Jericho missile but I could still appreciate its beauty. Lucky enough for me, I'd been put on babysitting duty. And chauffeuring. Which, considering my job, was a pretty good gig. I had a chance to listen in to the "real" Tony Stark and write a good report for the company through the US Military. I had yet to work with Tony, even though he was a huge supporter of the military. Not that I wanted to be the Public Affairs representative for Stark Industries—with Tony's track record, that would be the death of my career.

Said "baby" that I was "sitting" swirled his expensive alcohol and said, "I feel like you're going to pull over and snuff me. What, you're not allowed to talk? Hey, Forrest!"

Jimmy Montgomery cleared his throat uncomfortably and, over the very loud AC/DC playing, said, "We can talk, sir."

"Oh, I see," the cocky man said with a laugh, "so it's personal!"

I rolled my eyes and stepped on the brakes a little, seeing as how we were getting closer to the base and it was best to be safer than sorry and end up rear-ending the vehicle in front of us. "No, you intimidate them."

"Good God, you're a woman. I honestly...I couldn't have called that."

Pratt, sitting in the passenger seat next to me, let out a laugh at this comment. I couldn't help but smirk and let the blow roll off my shoulders—after all, it was kind of what I was going for. Just in case we'd be attacked (which was improbable, as we were less than ten minutes away from the safety of our base with no insurgents within a one-hundred-mile radius) I had to look more gender-neutral so that I wouldn't be given the special treatment that women got in Afghanistan.

"You actually have an excellent bone structure...I'm kind of having a hard time not looking at you right now. Is that weird? It's okay, laugh." I did laugh, feeling stupid for the blush coming onto my cheeks. _I'm young...I'm virile. It's nice to know that the playboy Tony Stark is giving me a compliment._ I was twenty-four years old, (complicatedly) single, and Tony wasn't all that bad looking. He was a playboy, but he was also rich, intelligent, and a good contact to have for the future.

I checked my rear view mirror to look Tony Stark in the eye, noting that he wasn't all that bad looking for a man in his thirties, maybe forties. I should have done some research on him before becoming his driver in the convoy, but I really hadn't been given that much notice.

" _Phillips!"_

" _Yes, sir?"_

" _Tony Stark arrives in an hour to give a weapons demonstration. You're in charge of his caravan. Make sure the boys behave. Treat him well; we want this deal."_

" _Sir."_

He was handsome, with thick black hair and a good amount of scruff. Even his eyes were bright and blue. I knew that he was a playboy, so, when the enlisted boys in the car asked about Tony's involvement with some ladies from a magazine, I wasn't surprised. I just shook my head and tuned them out.

They were starting to relax a lot—a little too much, actually, but I let them have their fun. When a 'celebrity' like Tony Stark came to base, the boys got to have their fun. Not that I didn't like to have fun, but I had been put in charge of the caravan and I wasn't going to let down my commanding officer. (The fact that I was up for promotion wasn't anything to scoff at, either.)

I ignored it when Montgomery asked for a picture. Tony was going on about peace signs and how he'd be out of a job if peace was a real thing. All laughs and pictures and fun. And that was when the humvee in front of us burst into flames. I swerved to the right to avoid the oncoming debris but some of it hit the windshield, cracking it. Two more explosions rocked the vehicle we were sitting in.

Farrow and Pratt got out of the car with weapons. I yelled at Jimmy to stay with Stark—he wasn't armed or armored. The vehicle, I knew, would protect them for a while from most weapons...unless the assailant used the bomb they'd used to attack the first humvee.

 _They wouldn't blow up the vehicle. They're obviously after Stark._

Sand was blowing straight into my eyes, even behind my goggles, and gunshots were ringing in my ears. My squad and I were too busy taking cover and keeping sand out of our eyes to understand what was going on. I shot left and right, trying to find out where the main attackers were coming from. I was a great shot...but not when I couldn't see what I was shooting.

I ducked behind an outcropping of rocks, quickly reloading my M16 and taking deep breaths of sand. My brain switched into survival mode—all it wanted was to keep myself alive, keep my squad alive, and keep the "baby" alive. That's all there was in the world.

Weapon loaded and eyes too dry from sand to feel pity for myself, I suddenly realized that I was alone. Only momentarily, I panicked. "Farrow!" I whispered harshly into my comm. when I couldn't see him, or anyone, next to me anymore. "Pratt! Do you read me?" There was completely radio silence as another bomb went off.

I peeked up over the outcropping just with enough time to see Jimmy get shot. He fell to the ground, his brains splattered alongside the vehicle. Stark didn't wait much longer to run, the idiot. As well as I could, I started taking out the men who were going after him or trying to shoot him down. While I'd been in charge of watching over him, it wasn't my fault if he didn't follow orders.

I jumped up and ran after him. I dodged multiple bullets, which hit the ground near me and sent up more sand and dirt and dust. The _zing!_ of each bullet only made me run faster, towards the man I was supposed to protect.

Suddenly, a sharp pain ran through my side. I slid down the rocks and placed a hand to the hot blood on my stomach. My body told me to stay where I was, but my brain was panicking slightly and told me to run for the base, which would have taken me an hour to reach on foot (while injured,) only if I didn't get shot for trying to get away.

I got up anyway. I kept going in the direction that Tony Stark had been heading. I saw him just as a bomb landed twenty yards away from me. He was there, too. Close by. I tackled Tony Stark. I didn't remember much past hitting the ground and blacking out.


	3. 08 May 2010, 0838 Hours: Afghanistan

**08 May 2010  
** **0838 hours  
** **Kunar Province, Afghanistan** **  
**

" _Lieutenant...Lieutenant! Phillips!"_

The world came in and out of view. First, a black abyss. Then, a tan-colored sky. Faces came into my sight, mouths moving, but all I heard was the high-pitched ringing of hearing damage. Slowly, shouts started sounding off. I could hear a helicopter somewhere. One face stood over me now, a hand checking my pulse. Slowly, feeling was coming back to me. A dull ache started spreading through my abdomen, spreading through my chest, down my arms, and bringing a scream to my lips.

I couldn't feel my legs.

" _Phillips, you're okay! We've got you, Phillips!"_

" _Where is Stark?!"_

"I lah...lah." My brain could sound the words, but my mouth couldn't form them.

 _I don't know._

 _I don't know where Stark is._


	4. 04 July 2010, 1230 Hours: Afghanistan

**July 4 2010  
** **1230 hours  
Washington D.C.**

"Lieutenant Phillips," one of the many reporters said as I was being wheeled out of the hospital. I groaned and tried to keep my face down, but the flashing lights were still giving me a headache. "Lieutenant Phillips! Where did you last see Tony Stark?"

"Was he alive?" another asked, this time a female.

"Are you receiving a dishonorable discharge from the military for losing Tony Stark to terrorists?"

"No," General Ross said over me in a harsh bark. He glared at the many reporters around us, pushing me through like a battering ram. "Lieutenant Phillips did her duty. She protected Mr. Stark until she was no longer physically able. According to Phillips, Tony was last seen alive before she was gravely injured. There is nothing further to report."

I looked back at the General, his grey hair and handlebar mustache the same as it had been thirty years ago when he'd met my father at West Point. "Thank you, sir."

"Just get better, Phillips. Your father and I didn't enlist you for you to quit over a flesh wound." **  
**

The place where my leg had once been throbbed as if it were still there.


	5. 23 April 2012, 1339 Hours: DC

**23 April 2012**  
 **1339 hours  
Washington D.C.  
**

"The humvee exploded and I, ah...I don't remember much after that," I said softly, elbows on my thighs as I leaned down and rubbed the back of my head. I couldn't meet his eyes. Instead, I stared at my tennis shoes—one strangely larger than the other—and the runs in the carpet. Explosions went off in my brain, making me wince. I remembered the bits and pieces of the humvee in front of us hitting the window, cracking it slightly.

" _What's going on?!"_

" _Contact left!"_

"I pulled out my gun and readied to exit, tellin' Jimmy to stay with Tony Stark. We yelled at him to stay down, but he kept askin' for a gun." The scenes replayed themselves in my head, some days more than others, but usually after a rough night of dreams they were nice and fresh in my mind. Today was one of those fresh days.

It'd been almost two years since it had happened. After two months in the hospital, I'd done nothing to fix myself then and afterwards I'd thrown myself into my work, earning a promotion and keeping the memories at bay. It wasn't until I'd attacked my mother during a night terror one day on vacation that I knew that I needed serious help.

Sam Wilson, the man in charge of helping those at the VA center, gently placed a hand on my back. I hadn't realized I was shaking until he started rubbing gentle circles around my shoulder blades. "It's okay, Joan...you can talk to me. It's just us."

I was still in the Army, even after everything that had happened. I shouldn't have even been at the VA center, but after attacking my mother I knew I needed help. I'd gotten a promotion before going to Afghanistan from Second Lieutenant to First Lieutenant, but afterwards I'd been given a purple heart and then a job at The Department of Defense to keep me busy. Two years later, that gave me a promotion from First Lieutenant to Captain. Then, to keep me from going stir plum crazy, the government gave me a nice, cushy teaching job in New York. I knew that that was code that I would be behind a desk for the rest of my military career.

Staring at the slightly larger shoe beneath my right pant leg seemed to remind me of that even more. I looked up into the warm brown eyes of my brother's best friend...or, who _had_ been my brother's best friend. Riley Phillips had been an amazing solider—going so far as to join the Special Forces with Sam and dying three years ago. Sam hadn't stayed in much longer. Sam had this beautiful dark, ebony skin and the whitest crooked smile I'd ever seen. I remembered when we were little, he'd come over after his father was murdered and ask any questions he had for his father to mine. He and my brother had been the closest of friends. So, when I told him I needed help, he'd let me know that he would always be there for me.

I grabbed his other hand and took the deep breaths he told me about. He probably didn't have any feeling in his hand, but I needed him as my rock. "I-I should have come to you sooner, but...I'm goin' to New York to teach, and..."

He nodded and kept up the soothing circles on my back. He didn't go anywhere near where the scars from the bullets and shrapnel, which I was grateful for. "West Point, right?"

Not able to speak, I just gave him a nod. I leaned my head against his shoulder and let the tears fall from my eyes. "I-I...I just need to get over this, and...not havin' family up there...might be a bad thing."

"It's not going to get better overnight," Sam said softly. His hand went from soothing circles to gently running through my hair. "It's going to take time and you won't have a support group up there. Have you thought about therapy?"

I gave a small laugh and squeezed his hand a little tighter. "Isn't that what this is?"

He laughed too and gave me his signature Sam smile. "I'm just a friend who can listen and give you some advice."

"That's not therapy?" I knew what look he was giving me, even though I couldn't see his face. "Okay, okay, I get it. Yes, that's one reason I'm talkin' to you. I...need to tell someone about the nightmares. Mom's threatening to tell my commandin' officer. She told me that she's not afraid of gettin' me the help I need and hospitalizin' me if she has to." _I won't leave the military. No matter if they told me to take the discharge. I'm in the military for a reason. For my dad, my grandfather, Riley...it's for a reason, dammit._

"God, I miss your mom. How's she doing?" My mother was an amazing woman—strong-willed, beautiful, intelligent...everything a modern southern woman needed to be. While she was a housewife at heart, she was also a general's wife and one of those women that went to every charity event she could manage and still manage to raise six children with the intensity of Attila the Hun.

"She's doin' great. Just started another battered women's shelter. Also started a scholarship in Riley's honor."

"Hmm." He gently squeezed my hand. "We should get together for Thanksgiving this year."

He was trying to distract me but I told myself I didn't care. "Sorry I kind of ruined the last one..."

"You being in the hospital didn't 'ruin' Thanksgiving. We were just lucky that we had you." I ran my free hand over my stomach where a bullet had pierced me. While the pain was gone, sometime I still felt phantom pains. I still had the scars. I still looked down at my feet and wondered why one still felt like it was there when I knew it wasn't.

"The doctors said that I was lucky to be alive." "Believe me, I know. I didn't leave your bedside." He squeezed my hand and tugged on my hair a little. "Did you want to keep going? We don't have to, but—"

"No." I took a deep breath. "I need to get it off my chest."

" _Shit, shit!"_

" _Wait, wait, give me a gun!"_

"Jimmy got out of the humvee and yelled at Stark to stay where he was. He turned and didn't get very far before shrapnel went off in his face." It hurt to remember every single detail. The smoke and dust and sand coated my lungs and stung my eyes. Jimmy's blood had splattered all over the humvee. "Some of it went in me, too." I ran my hands over my left arm, which had taken most of the damage. Little white scars danced over the tanned skin. "I protected Tony for as long as I could, but everyone else had been shot down...and then they got me. The first shot got me here." I pointed to the lowest rib on the left side of my stomach. "I still managed to pull up my gun and shoot the bastard between the eyes. It was a missile attack. Guns and bombs went off everywhere. When I tackled Stark, I saved him from the brunt force of one. I think that was the one that took off my leg. I couldn't see and the pain was so bad...

"The last thing I remember before I blacked out was them takin' Stark away. Then a man was standin' over me, shootin' me in the shoulder to make sure I was dead...except that he missed by a few centimeters."


	6. 03 May 2012, 0630 Hours: West Point

**One more chapter before Cap comes into play!**

* * *

 **3 May 2012  
** **0630 hours  
West Point, NY** **  
**

I felt so much pride for my Alma Mater—West Point, the United States Military Academy. Walking back on campus, there was nothing but potential plebes and crisp May air flowing all around. R-Day (Reception-Day) was in full swing at 6:30 in the morning, those plebes (freshmen) scurrying about with their parents before everything was taken from them except a small bag of luggage.

I technically didn't have to be on campus for another six and a half weeks. School actually started, then. I wasn't going to help any with Cadet Basic Training (also affectionately known as "Beast Barracks") but I liked to watch. I liked to keep an eye out for promising future recruits. Beast Barracks were where you were made. It broke you down and built you back up again. Yes, you picked up all sorts of great experiences and good training you wouldn't get anywhere else, but you also learned the satisfaction of working hard and working together. You learned how precious it was to render a salute to the flag and take on the nation as your own, to protect it with every fiber in your being.

The scurrying plebes around me made me a little sad. _They look so young._ I'd been that young once, too. Six years later, I was broken and scarred but I'd come back. In a way, being on that campus made me feel a little younger again. It was like a breath of fresh air—a clean slate.

The stares of a few plebes made that slate red again. I stood straighter and tried to ignore them, like I always did. I was more than my injury. I could still run circles around them in training. I wore shorts because I was trying to get over the fact that I'd lost a leg. I wore my blade leg because the fake, leg-look-alike legs were bulky and ignorant. I'd lost a leg—using a half-working plastic one that somewhat looked like a real leg didn't make sense when a blade worked perfectly for walking and running and hurt less.

I tried to repeat what Sam taught me over and over again as people tried to subtly look and then act as if they hadn't: _I am more than my injury._

A little redheaded girl was struggling to hold all of her items. It made me sad when parents wouldn't drop their kids off. As a tactical officer (TAC), it was my job to make sure that their year started and ended well. That not only meant mental and physical well-being, but emotional as well.

"Hey, plebe," I said as I ran up behind her. She jumped and dropped a few of her things. I held in a chuckle and just smiled at her. "It's okay, you're not in trouble. Just wanted to help you to Eisenhower. Everythin' okay?"

"Y-yes, ma'am," she said in a small voice. I could only feel as though she'd take a hell of a beating before she grew a backbone and spoke up. I picked her things up and handed them to her in a neater fashion. "Th-thank you."

"No problem." I was dressed in running shorts and a grey army shirt, my blade prosthetic, and a Purdue University hat, courtesy of my youngest of older brother's Alma Mater. (Amazing football team, amazing engineering program.) She couldn't have recognized me as a TAC, but I obviously wasn't a plebe. I could see the cogs running in her head— _a professor, maybe? A staff member? An older student?_ While given a lot of information prior to R-Day, many plebes still had a lot to learn regarding life at West Point. "Here's Eisenhower. Best get goin'." It was five till 0630. Early was on time, on time was late, and late was left. "I may be one of the last friendly faces you'll see."

The statue of President Eisenhower stood tall in front of the building named after him. I didn't realize that that would be the last day I would see it standing and the last day I would see that redheaded little girl alive. The last few words I told her had never been more true.


	7. 04 May 2012, 0235 Hours: West Point

**At last, some Cap! Chapters will be uploaded about a week to two weeks apart now. Most are longer than this and if they're too short I'll upload them on top of one another. Please let me know what you think!**

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 **May 4 2012  
** **0235 hours  
** **West Point, NY** **  
**

I woke up in a cold sweat, my heart still beating quickly even though the dream (more like nightmare) was fading from my memory. I ran a hand over my face and pushed back my sweaty bangs, trying to calm myself and forget the fear and adrenaline that coursed through me.

I pushed out of bed, already dressed in a pair of workout shorts and a grey Army t-shirt, so I prepared my leg and slipped it on almost mechanically. I put a shoe on my one foot and I was out of the standard-issue apartment the school had loaned me before I realized what I was doing. My legs pumped and my lungs screamed for a challenge, so I gave it to them. My mind was racing almost as fast as I forced my feet to run.

My knees hit stone steps. I looked up and saw a large Catholic church in front of me. Somehow, I always ended up there when I needed guidance.

The Cadet Chapel was my home away from home. I'd always felt so close to God and country while kneeling against the hard slate ground. The place was Protestant by nature but I was Catholic so they didn't have the nice cushioned prayer kneelers. Sometimes, I'd even use the piano when it was late at night and I couldn't sleep and there weren't any others there. (That had been years ago, though. I hadn't been back to West Point since I'd graduated.) Or even the pipe organ, but that was rather loud and sometimes it would wake up the priest who lived there. It was the largest pipe organ in the world, so it was a lot of fun to play.

Still, I just needed some peace of mind. The beautiful chapel was completely empty but for me and some peaceful instrumental music that was on twenty-four-seven in there. Sometimes I wished that it was just quiet all the time. Sometimes it was nice, because then I wasn't left with my raging thoughts. That night, it was nice.

 _Dear Heavenly Father, I find myself split. I feel comforted by my old memories of this beautiful school, but I still feel so torn from my experiences in war. Please, help me heal. You've helped physically, but spiritually and mentally I am broken. I need your help. I don't ask for help often Please. In Your Name, Amen._

Just as I finished, I heard another person come in. The doors echoed loudly throughout the cavernous room even though the person was trying to be quiet. I still wasn't done with my prayers for the night, and I wouldn't be able to sleep for a long while yet, so I just let them join me.

A familiar-looking man knelt at the pew a few rows ahead of me. He'd already crossed himself with Holy Water. He knelt down and looked deeply troubled, clasping his hands in front of him and looking at the large cross at the front of the chapel. He hadn't seemed to notice me.

He looked so stricken. Gorgeously so, as he was one of the most beautiful specimens of human men that I'd ever seen, but haunted. His hair was thick and rather long for a military man, which he obviously was because of his large, muscular body, but that hair was coiffed perfectly on top of his head and the sides were short enough to pass inspection. His face, while friendly, was full of sadness and anger. He seemed to be about my age—another instructor, maybe?

I couldn't help but stand up and move over to him. He heard me, then, and looked up in surprise. His eyes were big, beautiful baby blues with the longest lashes I'd ever seen on a man. He had full lips and a long, straight nose. Those lips parted slightly in surprise and his thick jaw unclenched from its tightened position. "I'm sorry," his deep, clear voice said as I neared, "I didn't know anyone else was here."

I recognized that look. A look that said, _"I've seen war. I've seen death."_ I didn't acknowledge his apology. "Couldn't sleep?" The man shook his head. He stared ahead, demons hidden in those crystal blue eyes. "Me, neither. I come here at night sometimes. Or I did, when I went to school here. It's comfortin'."

He looked up at me with those baby blues again and he smirked. "Isn't loving God and going to church kinda...old-fashioned?"

My eyes blinked a few times to clear my head. At first I'd thought it was a scathing remark but he was being serious. I just stared at him for a moment and he stared back, complete innocence and sincerity in the deep blue pools. "If it is," I said softly, staring up at the large cross, "then call me old-fashioned." The soldier shook his head and clasped his hands between his knees. I held out my hand. "Joan."

He looked at my hand for a minute before grasping it in a firm handshake. "Steve."

For some reason I couldn't shake, he looked incredibly familiar. Either I'd gone to school with him, or we'd served together, or his father worked with mine (or I'd seen him in every dream I'd ever had). I wasn't going to start bringing any of that up in the middle of the night in the Cadet Chapel, but still, I'd figure it out at some point. "Wanna talk about it, Steve?" He looked guarded, hesitant. "You don't have to say anythin' if you don't want. I don't like talkin' about it, either. But sometimes, telling God and a complete stranger what you need to get off your chest is good. I should know, I'm Catholic."

"Me, too," he said with a small huff. "What I wouldn't give for a confessional."

"Right?" There was a companionable silence for a little while. Finally I knelt down on the floor in front of his pew and rested my clasped hands on the back of the one in front of us. I cleared my throat and waited for him to join me. "Lord, we come before you today in need of your healin' hand. Hold our hearts within yours, and renew our minds, bodies, and souls. Give us the strength to move forward on the path you've laid out for us. Guide us towards better health, and give us the wisdom to identify those you've placed around us to help us get better. In your name we pray, Amen."

"Amen," he whispered a few moments afterward. Both of us stayed on our knees, bent over our clasped hands as we thought about our own separate demons.

I glanced down a the watch I'd somehow miraculously put on and saw that it was close to four in the morning. I only had a an hour and a half until reveille and I was cranky as all get out if I didn't get my five hours of sleep. I stood up and dusted off my knees. Steve barely glanced up. "Well, Steve, I'm sure I'll see you here at night more often. The back door is unlocked Monday through Friday and the side door is open on the weekends."

He did look up to me this time. Somewhere deep down, I knew that I'd seen him somewhere. Either in pictures or he had worked with someone in my vast, influential family. Those eyes didn't look like the kind that would work with my family, though—he didn't seem political enough to work with Kenton and he didn't seem like he was deadly enough to be in Special Forces with Riley or Sam. "Thanks."

"I'll leave you to your prayers."


	8. 04 May 2012, 0530 Hours: West Point

**May 04 2012  
** **0530 hours  
** **West Point, NY** **  
**

The next day was pretty standard—or at least it started pretty standard. I woke up, smiled as reveille was played across campus, and made some coffee as second-class cadets yelled across the barracks for new cadets to wake up and get their asses in shape. It brought me back in a good way. I vaguely remembered being exceptionally skilled in following orders. The physical aspect had been my most difficult mountain to scale, but even then, I surpassed even my own standards to become the Star Man (or Woman, in my case.) My brother had been the Star Man. So had our father before us. It was bestowed upon the best and the brightest new cadets.

It was a beautiful morning on the Hudson. I walked out onto my balcony and smiled at the two-mile run that the cadets had to start out their morning with. The coffee warmed my hands against the chill of the morning. _I'll go and see how the new cadets are doing sometime later. Maybe I'll get some good kids this year._

I didn't realize that a lot of them were going to die later in the day. If I had known, I would have tried to save them. I just slipped on my ACU (Army Combat Uniform) in its camouflaged glory, oblivious, and relished putting it on again. It'd been a while since I'd been authorized to wear it. The material was familiar and strangely uncomfortable but I pushed those feelings aside.

It was a chilly but gorgeous day. Just a few white, wispy clouds in the bright blue sky. The flowers were in bloom and the grass was perfectly green. All in all, it was an amazing May morning.

Then the aliens attacked.

" _I'm pinned down! This is Captain Joan Phillips. Repeat, pinned down!"_ Gunshots fired all around as I ducked behind what used to be Eisenhower Hall's south wall. It was a pile of bricks, now, against a grey and turbulent Hudson river. The once-pristine hall was being used as a cover against whatever was attacking the teachers, soldiers, and students of West Point Academy.

" _Where's your squad?"_ a reply came back through the communicator. " _Are you secure?"_

I swallowed down a dry throat and refused to let myself freak out. I was in combat...nothing could get to me until I was out of danger and the last of my squad was safe. _"Most fell when getting' the plebe's to safety. I'm defendin' my last injured cadet at Eisenhower Hall."_

I had already lost an entire squad of Second-Classmen. The plebes had mostly been either evacuated or killed. I hadn't had much time to secure a squad in the first place, but the things attacking us had taken them out even faster than any army could have been pulled together. Weapons weren't everywhere on campus, contrary to popular belief. Even if there were weapons, there usually wasn't any ammo to go along with them.

I locked my jaw in a tight vice as I shot at an incoming...whatever they were with one of the many weapons I'd brought with me to campus. Humanoids on advanced technology hovercrafts, covered in grey cloaks and masks that looked almost alien flew around. Some of their arms were made of actual weaponry. One blast from one of their lasers could take out an entire vehicle, even ones with armor.

The plebes were just barely trained. That day had been the New Cadet's first day of Beast Barracks, the first day of basic training and field training. Most of the students weren't really trained, in all actuality—none of them had ever seen combat. None of them had seen their friends and teammates killed right in front of them. We tried to teach them as much as we could before we sent them out to be leaders and soldiers, but being on the battlefield taught so much more than the school ever could.

" _Stay where you are for now. We're trying to get some help out here. Colonel Lucas out."_

One angry finger pulled at the tip of my sniper rifle's trigger, shooting an alien straight between the eyeballs. If it had any, that was. Another shot and two more fell behind it. "How're you doin', plebe?" I asked softly to the seventeen-year-old girl who'd just the day before had sat in the hall that was now rubble around us.

She was keeping pressure on a pale, destroyed leg. Red hair peeked out from under the edges of my ACU helmet, which I'd given her when a stray shot had nicked her freckled little ear. All she had was her PT black pants and grey Army t-shirt. Those clothes weren't meant for battle, though. A beam had instantly torn through her leg and the other had been buried under concrete that I couldn't lift. _"Please, don't leave me,"_ she'd begged, and I hadn't been able to move since.

"I've been in worse scrapes than this," she said with a sarcastic tone in her voice. It was the same voice I'd heard just the day before when I'd helped her pick up her few meager belongings as she went to R-Day festivities. "I can't think of any right now, but..."

I laughed a little, stretching my jaw from its tense position. "That's the attitude, plebe."

"It's Annie," she said with serious green eyes. This girl was almost like little orphan Annie from the old movie, freckles and everything. She wasn't saying it in a disrespectful tone, either. "Annie Larson."

A blast made me fly back and land hard on my ass. I groaned as my body ached. My gun was grabbed and I moved back over to Annie, taking that moment to reload. I wasn't sure how many of those things I'd taken out, but I was running low on ammo and my arms were almost numb from recoil. I sat down next to her and put a hand to her forehead—cool, clammy, because she'd lost a lot of blood. "I know, Annie. I know."

"I've lost a lot of blood," she said softly, mimicking my thoughts. Her bright eyes welled up with tears and she shook that head of curly red hair. "Hey, if I don't m-make it..."

I put a hand on her shoulder and gave the smallest of squeezes, but I was sure that she didn't feel it. Everything was probably going numb. Probably didn't even feel the tremors going through the ground as West Point was reduced to rubble around us. "Stop it...that's an order. You'll make it through this, don't worry."

"I'm here to start premed," she said with a small laugh, which then turned into a groan. Her breathing was shallow and her lips were turning blue. "I know the signs of hypovolemic shock. Just..." She coughed a little and blood splattered on the front of her PT shirt. "You were a great leader for as long as I had you."

I gave a squeeze to her ice cold hand. "You'll be okay. I'll get us out of here. I'll—" An explosion cut me off, the ground shaking and debris flying all around.

Looking up, I saw that the last wall of Eisenhower Hall was starting to collapse. I practically threw my body over hers. The rubble around us crumbled, the weight of the world falling down around me. We were covered in hundreds of pounds of stone and I lost track of the outside world.


	9. 05 May 2012, 0928 Hours: West Point

**05 May 2012  
** **0928 hours  
** **West Point, NY** **  
**

 _"I...I see someone!"_

Two heads of hair peeked out from under the rubble. Neither was moving, but both were trapped under large amounts of brick, mortar, and steel. The copper statue of Eisenhower topped the two women. Steve Rodgers quickly jumped down and lifted away many of the larger pieces until he saw a bloodied mat of blonde hair, then a body, which covered another body.

It was a Captain in the Army with the name Phillips, from what he could see on the uniform.

Steve quickly pulled the rubble away from the uniform-clad body. He pulled her up, her limp limbs covered in blood and dirt, none of which seemed her own. He checked her over for injuries and was relieved to find that there were just a few scrapes and bruises.

The second woman was red-headed, with blood covering her entire body. No movement was being made in the rubble, even from breathing, signaling that she had moved on.

Slowly, the woman in his arms opened her large chocolate eyes, eyes that he'd seen just the night before in the Cadet Chapel. _"Couldn't sleep?" "Call me old-fashioned."_ She wasn't coherent, which showed when she kicked Steve away furiously, growling, "Get _off_ of me!" She kneed him in the stomach with her stump—as a prosthetic was lying half-broken in the rubble (he hadn't seen her disability the night before and this surprised him)—and gave one hell of an uppercut as he bent over. It had surprised him rather than hurt. When he looked back up, the woman was scrambling back down into the rubble to where the redheaded girl lay. "Annie!" Joan, he remembered her name to be, cried in a cracked, dry voice. She dug her hands raw as she tried to move all of the rubble by herself. " _Annie_!"

The rescue team around her tried to get her away from the scene, but she kept attacking back. Her nails raked Steve's face a few times before he pulled her arms in tight, close to his body. He saw tears running down her dirtied face. "Annie!" she yelled again, the fight draining from her body. "You stupid, _stupid_ plebe..."

Steve held her close as she sobbed, as the last of her kicking died down. He didn't want to crush her, but he also didn't want her to hurt herself or anyone else, either. "Hey, hey, now, it'll be alright."

"She was my responsibility," Joan whispered, finally shrugging out of his hold. He let her go once he realized that she was fully conscious. She straightened her spine, then flinched and held one hand to her shoulder and tried to find her balance without her prosthetic to stabilize her. When he reached for her, she shrugged away from him. "I'm fine."

She wasn't fine, but Steve knew that she needed time to grieve. She hopped with as straight a spine as she could down into the rubble. There, she slowly started to clear the rubble away...almost lovingly. She still favored one shoulder as she tried to move some heavier blocks.

"Joan," Steve said softly, crouching next to her and helping move cracked concrete. "You need medical attention."

Her eyes were hardened. Without warning, she reached up and pushed in her dislocated shoulder with a small cry of pain. Then, she kept at digging in the grave. When she reached a large, metal beam that covered one of the cadet's legs, she tried in vain to move it. He easily picked it up for her and moved it out of the way. Beneath it was what looked like a bent piece of metal with a cup at one end, but Joan saw it and pulled it onto her knee, taking the place of her calf, ankle, and foot.

Phillips bent down and picked up the cadet, her good leg struggling to support the other girl's weight with a prosthetic that wasn't properly attached. When Steve tried to help, the woman just cocked her head back and carried her soldier out of the grave.

Steve watched the woman struggle to carry the small girl, so he gave up trying to let her do it and climbed up out of the rubble after her. "Captain," he called after her, gently placing a hand on her non-injured shoulder.

She gritted her teeth and looked up at him with hard, steely brown eyes. She wasn't crying anymore, but tear tracks ran down her dirty, bruised face and her hair was bloodied and matted along the top of her head. "The name's Joan Phillips."

He wasn't sure why she was telling him this, but he just nodded and put his hands under the cadet's body that she was holding. "Okay." The name sounded familiar but he didn't try to ask.

"A-and this," she said, her southern drawl wavering slightly as she looked down on the girl in her arms, "is Annie Larson. She was a very brave girl and she didn't deserve this!"

Steve gently closed Annie's bright green eyes, then put a hand against her face. "We came as fast as we could." Taking the girl from Joan's arms was a trial, but he did. He then put Annie on a cart where the other deceased were lying. "She'll get a soldier's burial."

As soon as the girl was out of his arms, he felt himself being turned around. He was suddenly staring into the eyes of a very angry Captain Joan Phillips. "You _'came as fast as you could'_?"she asked incredulously. One hand pushed angrily against his shoulder, pushing him back the way they'd come. "Tell that to every soldier that died under my command!"

"Stand down, Phillips," he said seriously, not wanting to hurt her. She was in a great deal of grief, he knew, as well as agony and fear, but she would hurt herself if she kept this up.

"Who the hell are you to tell me to _stand down?_ " she asked, looking him up and down. He hadn't changed out of his star spangled uniform, not even having slept since Loki had been arrested and New York had been saved. Instead, he was back at West Point, helping to find survivors while the rest of the Avengers worked on New York itself. "Who the hell _are you_?!"

"I'm Captain Steven Rodgers, United States Army," he said simply, looking down into her eyes. "I have no authority to tell you to stand down. But right now, you aren't thinking straight."

"Damn right I'm not thinkin' straight!" She turned around and started pacing. Steve knew how hard it was to think on what had happened. _Aliens? Norse Gods from other universes? Technology that gives a man enough power to fight even the toughest foes? A giant green rage monster?_ And what did that make Steve, exactly? "All I've ever wanted to do was protect my country and now—now I don't know if I can. They told me to take the honorable discharge. They told me to take it and get out, that a wounded soldier like me could do something better with my life. A desk job. I'm still in and I'm still at a desk job. I'm good at my job, dagnabbit! A disability does hurt me, but _aliens, God!_ "

He felt as though he should say something, but, at the same time, it seemed like the worst idea in the world. She was in shock and needed to get it out of her system.

"I can't, Steve, I can't. You know, I just met you last night and I'm throwin' all of this stuff at you and you—you—you're—" She looked up at him, then, her eyes wide and a light bulb practically lighting above her head. "You're Captain-fuckin'-America."

Steve flinched at her coarse language—he was still old-fashioned that way and hearing curses coming out of a dame's mouth was just wrong. She started ranting and raving and then she broke down into tears as she clutched the side of Annie Larson's medical cot. He put a comforting hand on her shoulder and she let him keep it there.


	10. 05 May 2012, 1150 Hours: ?

**05 May 2012  
** **1150 hours  
** **Unknown Location  
**

Hours later, they were sitting in a SHIELD on-call room. She just stared at him. The angry look had been lost long ago and now she just clutched her dog tags and the blanket they'd given her up to her chest. Her deep brown eyes, so full of emotion, looked out of place on her sad face. She was sitting on the couch and wouldn't let him get any closer, so he sat in a chair by the door.

He just studied her. He hadn't been able to get a good look at her in the Cadet Chapel, but he'd gotten a good sense of who she was in just those few moments of talking in God's house. She was a soldier, like him, with a strong belief in God and country. She had demons. _Everyone has demons._ And Lord, did she care for others, even those she'd only just met.

She didn't look like a soldier, though. She'd taken down her long, dirty blonde hair from its tight confines (regulation for women, hair couldn't touch the collar while in uniform but she'd pulled it down in frustration) and it hung in waves down around her waist. Familiar, piercing brown eyes stared him down in an intelligent way. She was pale and didn't wear makeup, which showed the large freckles all over her face.

She hadn't said anything since the operatives had come for him. He insisted on taking her with him, at least to stop her crying and to be able to explain things. So far, she hadn't asked a single question. _She's in shock._ "You can ask me anything. I've been authorized to tell you whatever you want to know." Not that he knew a lot in the first place.

She blinked and shook her head a few times. " _Authorized?_ " she asked under her breath. This seemed to turn a switch in her. She turned her angry but intelligent eyes onto him in more than the sad, lifeless gaze she'd been giving him for an hour. "You had to be _authorized_ to tell me somethin'? Where the hell am I?"

"Please calm down, Joan," he sighed as he flinched at her curse. She apparently did that when she was shocked and angry.

"Don't—don't you dare," she whispered, deadly serious. She stood up when he said her name. SHIELD had taken her prosthetic to get it repaired, so she stood on one leg, still looking strong even while balancing. The pant leg of her uniform hung limp on the right without the prosthetic to fill it out. "You...you're Captain America and I told my name to Steve. _Steve_ , who needed a friend in a chapel. Captain America can call me Captain Phillips and that's about all."

Steve just clasped his hands together and couldn't look at her. "Well, then, I'm just Steve right now, ma'am. And you're confused and you want answers."

"You're _the_ Steven Rodgers? Born in 1918, served in World War II with my grandfather?"

That was when it clicked. Steve could see Colonel Phillips in her cold, molten brown eyes. He could see the leadership there. He could see the strength and willpower the old man once had, packed into this young woman. Even the voice was similar—that slight southern drawl that got thicker the angrier she got. He felt a tear at his heart when those once-friendly eyes stared him down, burning for questions while somehow remaining cold to him.

It physically hurt to look at her. Last Steve knew, Colonel Phillips had been alive and well, sitting next to Penny in that control room. Everyone he knew and loved—gone.

He just nodded. Joan sat back down and didn't bother to cover up her leg. Steve found it beautiful—it was a sign of strength, of protecting one's country. He knew that many wounded soldiers found it a burden, an embarrassment, a weakness. But she could do anything anyone else could do.

"I miss him," she said softly, looking away. Her arms were crossed under her chest, which amplified her gorgeous breasts—he knew he shouldn't be looking, but he _was_ a man and she'd since taken off her ACU jacket and was just wearing a tan t-shirt underneath, baring her arms and giving her more shape than the baggy jacket. He blushed and looked away, rubbing at the back of his head. "He was a good man. He died when I was ten. He spoke about you. A lot, actually. It was kind of embarrassin'. He'd tell me stories of this runt kid who wanted the world to be sunshine and rainbows and threw himself over a dummy grenade to save his fellow soldiers."

Steve looked up to her, then. She was smiling a little, her eyes distant as she remembered the man that he actually knew. That he'd spent time with, who'd given him orders, who'd worked with him on the destruction of so many Hydra bases that Steve had lost count. (Not actually—it was twelve.) _Has it really been seventy years?_ It was only two weeks for him. "Sounds a lot like the woman who'd throw herself over a cadet's body to save her."

Joan Phillips shook her head and stared at him again. There was blood on her clothes but she hadn't wanted to change. She looked a little out of place in her uniform. A dame like her? She should be pampered and loved, not sent to the battlefield. "To _try_ to save her, you mean." He had nothing to say to that. "What were you doin' in the chapel last night, huh? Why did those—those—"

"Aliens." He still had a hard time believing it.

" _Aliens—_ attack West Point?"

Those questions were a little harder to answer. West Point was one of the most heavily-fortified military training centers anywhere near New York and the portal. The aliens had decided to attack the nearest stronghold—which explained their presence. A few had gotten out of Stark's perimeter and West Point and its students had gotten the brunt of the alien force. "Do the math. Military stronghold and a group of beings who wanted to take over the earth..."

It clicked in her brain. "They wanted to take out the soldiers and we were closest. Damn it...they were just kids." She put her head in her hands and didn't speak for a long time. He didn't think he'd be able to give her much more information or be able to get anything out of her. Steve sighed and stood up, getting ready to leave, when she said, "That doesn't explain why you were at the Cadet Chapel."

"Used to go there when I was a kid. My dad went to West Point before being deployed to the 107th. He'd take me there sometimes but was always upset because the Old Cadet Chapel had been taken down to build the new one. I only ever knew the new one and I needed...something, I guess. I was about to fight the battle of the century and all I could think to do was pray."

Silence for a long while. Then, "The old chapel's by the cemetery," she said softly, "or it was. Not sure if anythin's still there anymore, actually." Steve wanted to do nothing more than hold her. He didn't know this woman, though—she'd just prayed with him the night before. From what he'd seen, she didn't much care for coddling. She looked up to him, her face completely void of emotion—rather professional actually—and asked, "What is SHIELD?"

Steve racked his brain for the acronym. "Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division, I think."

The woman's face was dry. "That's a mouthful."

"Still not sure if that was right, actually."

"Okay, and what does this mouthful do? What does it mean? I'd like to think that as a Public Affairs Officer I know all there is to know about government organizations."

"It's top-secret, I think."

"Oh, yeah?" She raised a thick, shapely eyebrow and looked a little sarcastic. "I didn't realize that when Captain America was unearthed that a top-secret organization would keep him hidden from the rest of the world. No offense, but you're not exactly a threat to the United States of America."

"I'm not sure if I'm supposed to be offended by that in all honesty, ma'am. I don't know much of anything. It's only been two weeks since I woke up. For me, it's only been two weeks since 1945."

Steve was used to pity in the eyes of people he passed. Joan's eyes weren't full of pity—rather, they were intrigued and surprised. "Two weeks?"

He nodded and leaned against the door frame, rubbing the back of his neck uncomfortably. "Yeah. I've been trying to incorporate myself into your time but it's a little different than what I'm used to."

The woman who seemed more confused than him seemed to be wracking her brain. "'Isn't lovin' God and goin' to church kinda...old-fashioned?'" He remembered asking her that the night before in the Cadet Chapel. "God, you weren't kiddin'. The world has changed a lot, Rogers. Goin' to church has gone from lovin' God to making it more 'modern' and 'fun' so that people actually show up. People don't treat the stars and stripes like they used to, either."

"You treat them right. And you go to church to go to church," he said before he could stop himself. Her chocolate brown eyes had crinkles in the corners because she was smiling at him this time. This was the first time he'd seen her smile. Her teeth were white and straight against her pink, petal lips. "I mean..."

"No, you're right. My grandfather always told me to trust what was in my heart and respect people and objects with the pride that has been instilled in them. The flag is just an object—a large piece of polyester, in all honesty—but it's a symbol that's worth somethin', that means somethin' good. You—you're just a man who wants to serve his country and help people, but you're also a symbol. A symbol of somethin' _great_." A pink tint covered her cheeks then. She bit a chapped lip and smiled up at him.

Steve could see why she was a PAO. She was smart, eloquent, and knew what the heck she was talking about. Plus, she was Colonel Phillips' granddaughter—that had to count for something. That man could inspire a pill bug. "Well, I wouldn't say any of that."

"Don't be modest on me now, Rogers. My grandfather didn't just believe in you because of the serum. He believed in you because of who you were as a human bein'. He kept a picture of you as a little runt on his mantle until the day he died—because you were more than just the superhuman body you were given."

Steve could feel his face light on fire. _She's seen me from before the serum?_ "Oh, yeah?"

Joan looked smug. "Literally every time I saw him, he had some kind of lesson involvin' you that I had to learn. I had to grow up to be just as good as you—because bein' the sixth kid with five older brothers, you have to learn how to defend yourself and grow up strong. Strength doesn't mean anythin' in all honesty. You can be strong and still hurt people. But he taught me that you couldn't be a bully—you have to stand up for yourself, for others, and for the little guy."

He blinked in shock. She was like a little female clone of the old man, but with a better temperament. He thought briefly back onto her grief-filled tirade and put that towards dehydration, hunger, and confusion from just waking up. He'd felt the same way two weeks ago when they'd thawed him out in the middle of New York City.

Her stomach growled and she placed a hand to it. "I'm starvin'. I haven't eaten for a good twenty-four hours probably. Not sure what time it is. Is there any way...?"

He couldn't believe he'd forgotten. He'd specifically asked to be put on her debriefing and he was supposed to make sure she was comfortable, fed, and treated well. That, and keep an eye on her. Apparently, she was a high-risk issue, being an officer in the military connected to so many news resources and outlets. She had connections that even SHIELD didn't have, which was saying something. "Yeah, of course! I was supposed to..." Steve just shook his head, his mind still reeling from the past few days, and asked, "What do you want?"

"A burger. A big one. With bacon. A lot of bacon."

Steve blinked at her a few times before laughing. He'd had shawarma the night before but that'd been the last thing he'd had, too. His metabolism went four times faster than the normal human being's. But that didn't mean that a burger didn't sound like the best thing in the world to him. "Yeah, that sounds good. Any suggestions?"

"Well, I need to know where we are before I can give a suggestion."

Steve wondered if he was supposed to tell her that. They'd retreated to the Hub. He wasn't actually sure where it was, but it was definitely classified. She'd passed out in the humvee that they'd taken survivors away in and woke up in the on-call room with Steve standing right outside the door. "I, ah..."

"Let me guess...that's top-secret, too? Or you don't know?"

A knock sounded at the door. Joan stood up and dropped the blanket, standing at attention rather well for only having one leg. Steve stood up and didn't have to say anything before the door opened to show Maria Hill standing there. "Rogers," she said with a nod to him before she looked at Joan. "Phillips. You're welcome to two phone calls to alert your family as to your safety." She tossed a black box to Joan who caught it easily. "Then, we need to ask you a few questions."

"I'm not answerin' anything until I get my burger. With lots of bacon. Bacon heals the heart," she said casually as she opened the telephone—which was confusing to Steve because didn't telephones need cords?—and lengthened some kind of antenna. "Also, where's my leg? I don't really like hoppin' everywhere. Some new clothes would be nice, too. Lastly, I'd really like some Diet Coke. I'm in withdrawal here."

"I'm not your personal manservant," Hill said with a glare. Her deadly eyes turned to Steve who actually took a step back from her piercing gaze. "Weren't you supposed to take care of her? You asked for this debrief."

Joan, who'd been dialing the telephone and now had it up to her ear, raised an eyebrow at Steve who couldn't help but blush. "I wasn't sure of what I could tell her. Also, not sure where food is. You didn't` exactly hand out a map of this place."

"She's high-risk for information, not a prisoner. She can know pretty much what you know." Which wasn't much, thanks to all the secrets they kept. _I still need to talk to Fury about Hydra and the secrets that SHIELD is keeping from me._. "And there's a cafeteria right down the hall."

"Are there burgers?" Joan asked loudly before Hill slammed the door with another glare. "Sheesh. Just wanted a—Mom? Mom, I'm fine, please, calm down—"

Steve could hear a woman's frantic voice on the other line loud and clear. _"Joan Margaret Phillips, where on God's green earth are you, girl?! I was worried sick! Your brothers have been frantic—where are you?!"_

"I'm not sure, actually. I'm bein' debriefed by an organization called SHIELD. You know what that is, Mama? A top-secret organization that _I_ don't even know about. I'm about to call Daddy to check and see if he knows what's up." There was silence on the other end of the line for a while. "Mama?"

" _Be careful, Sweetheart. Don't go diggin' your nose in places it don't belong."_

"What? You know what, it doesn't matter. I'll figure it out. Can you get word out to the boys? None of them were in New York so they should be fine. _Mom._ "

" _Joan, Sweetheart, I've gotta go. Kenton is calling._ "

"Ask him about SHIELD—! Dammit." Joan closed the cordless phone and bit the tip of the antenna a little. Her mind seemed to be moving at a mile a minute as she bent her leg a few times to stretch it out. Steve shuffled from foot to foot, a little uncomfortable about listening in on her conversation. Joan's eyes met his and she huffed a little before she sat down. "Sorry. I don't kiss my mother with that mouth, promise."

Steve knew it was old-fashioned to not use curse words in that day and age. He was a little flattered that Joan would try and shield him from that. "It's not my place to judge, ma'am."

"Please. It's Joan."

"...Joan." He was confused, seeing as how she'd yelled at him earlier about using her first name. But he didn't question it.

The woman cleared her throat. "I'm gonna call my dad, now. He might have some answers for me. If, I mean, that's okay with your top-secret organization."

Steve chuckled a little and stuck his hands in his pant pockets—he'd changed hours before into a pair of khaki pants and a button-up, the only clothes he felt comfortable wearing. He was a little surprised that she wasn't calling a significant other. "I'm not sure if you noticed when the agent came in, but I'm not really the know-all on SHIELD."

"Really?" she asked with a sarcastic smile as she opened the phone again and dialed a number. There was a long moment of a ringing sound before a woman picked up the phone. "This is Captain Joan Phillips calling for General Chester Phillips." She lost some of her southern twang when she was talking professionally over the phone. There was a lot of arguing on the other side of the line.

Steve felt a pang shoot through his heart. _Colonel Phillips named his son after himself..._ He had the urge to meet this General—see if he was as good a man as the Colonel had once been. And he had to have been, to have raised a daughter like Joan. _And a few sons, apparently._

"No, I don't care if he's in a meeting. You pull him out and tell him that I'm in a room with Captain America in a SHIELD safe house and see what the President says, then!" There was a long silence on the other end of the line before a gruff, southern voice asked, _"What?"_ "Dad, a lot's been going on—"

 _"Good God, Joan, where the hell have you been?"_ Joan's face turned to flame as her father started describing 'the hell that the White House had been in the past two days.' _"Aliens, gods from other worlds—you said you're there with Captain America?_ "

Joan's eyes met Steve's in an understanding glance. "Yeah. Steven Rogers is standin' right in front of me. We had a nice long talk about Granddaddy Chester." Her twang returned full force.

 _"I bet you did. Listen, if you're with him, then you're with SHIELD. They're a good organization. Your grandfather helped start it, actually—"_

"Wait. You _knew_ about SHIELD? You knew about Captain America being dug out of the ice and you didn't _tell_ me?"

" _No offense, Joan, but you're good at your job. One word from me and the whole world would know about SHIELD. And you'd never keep Captain America a secret. Knowing you and your C/O, you'd want you to make Rogers the face of the military. I guess it isn't much of a secret anymore so none of that really matters. I may need your help to start informing the public on the truth about everything that went down."_

"What else don't I know? Am I adopted, too? That'd just put the icing on the cake. It wasn't your place to keep Captain America a secret. He's a national treasure meant to be shared with the world! Do you know how much morale he'd give the US? It's my duty to tell the world about this—"

 _"You aren't gonna be able to say a word, baby. At least a word that they don't want out in the open. SHIELD will make you sign a contract and you'll be under a lot of scrutiny from them for a while. Have they debriefed you yet?"_

She didn't answer the last question and went on a little bit of a rant. Her southern drawl got even heavier when she got angry. "I wouldn't be surprised if I've been watched my whole life, actually..." There was silence on the other line. "Y'know, I was being sarcastic, Dad! Are you telling me that they've hounded me since I was born?!"

 _"Protection, baby. Protection for you and our family. We've got an impressive lineage that needs protecting."_ Joan looked so angry that she wasn't even talking. Steve took the time to stop listening to her father explaining things to look through the drawers in the room. There had to have been some kind of clothing in there. Anything was better than her blood-spattered uniform.

"Oh, yeah? Well wait until I get my hands on my computer. Once I get authorization, it'll be all over the news. This can't stay quiet, Dad, the world needs to know—"

 _"SHIELD protects the world from what it can't handle, and it can't handle half of what's happened recently. That's why I was talking with the President—"_

"How do we explain _aliens_ and _gods_ to the world, then?! Tell me how that makes sense!"

Steve ended up finding a grey SHIELD t-shirt made of some silky material and a pair of black workout shorts. Both seemed a little big but he was sure that Joan would appreciate being out of her uniform for the time being. He laid it out for her while she argued with her father just as there was another knock on the door. Sparing a glance back at the furious woman, Steve opened the door to see an agent he'd never met before holding out the strange metal leg that Joan had been wearing earlier the day before.

It was metal all along the curved structure. It didn't look anything like a leg, but, when he bent it a little, it bounced. He could see how well it would work in comparison to some of the "life-like" fake legs he'd seen before. He laid the prosthetic down on the table and glanced up to Joan who had closed the phone and was sitting with her head in her hands.

"Here are some clothes. I'll head down to the cafeteria and see what I can do about that burger and Diet Coke." _Whatever that is..._

Joan stood up and shook her head. "No, I can't make you do that. You've gotta have something better to do that wait one me."

He could think of worse things than taking a beautiful woman to get some food. "Not really, no."

She grabbed the clothes that she'd been given and her leg—along with a few pieces that looked confusing to put on—and motioned her head to the bathroom. "Give me five minutes to clean up a little and I'll head to the cafeteria with you. Big guy like you's gotta be hungry, too."


	11. 06 May 2012, 0349 Hours: ?

**06 May 2012  
** **0349 hours  
Unknown Location**

I was tired, sore, and irritable. Still, I couldn't complain much when I had comfortable clothes (although a little too big), a nice shower (all of the blood was gone now), and all the food I could eat in front of me. I'd always been a fast eater—growing up in a military family and then going to West Point (and joining the military myself) led to that. You only got so long to eat so you ate as much and as fast as you could. Seven bites were all you could chew and you had to put the spoon down between bites. That was the rule during school, anyway. I didn't always put the spoon down but I did lower it when I ate now that I was older and out.

Still, I was starving so I scarfed down my burger and the huge salad I'd made to compromise. That and a huge egg omelet later (because it was three in the morning and I was starving so it was kinda breakfast time) Steve was still eating. I sat back, mostly in a food coma, and sighed contently.

Steve had been watching me scarf down all that with a confused look on his face. I internally rolled my eyes. "Can I help you, soldier?"

He blushed—obviously his tell. "N-no ma'am."

"I don't bite." _Unless you want me to. No, that's bad, Joan._ He was probably one of the most beautiful men I'd ever seen. Beautiful, kind, perfectly shaped for eyes to roam… Modest, especially. I could only imagine what he looked like with a shirt off. Not that he'd probably ever let me see that.

"For a dame, you're keeping up with me. And I eat four times the normal human being." As soon as he said it, he looked like he'd swallowed something bad.

I wasn't offended. You had to eat a lot to keep muscle and I hadn't eaten in over twenty-four hours. I was determined to eat myself into a food coma. "First off," I said after I swallowed some Rocky Road, "don't ever call me a 'dame' again. Or any woman, for that matter. Your age will be very, very apparent."

"Twenty-six?"

 _Sassy bastard._ I narrowed my eyes. "Secondly...you don't talk to women much, do you?"

"This is the longest I've spent with a broad—sorry, a woman—one-on-one." It was pretty early, so we were the only people in the serve-yourself cafeteria except the poor soul on duty who had to cook our food for us. So, technically, we were still one-on-one. "I've talked to women, just..."

I smirked and waved my spoon at him. "No offense taken, Cap. I'm just in an irritable mood. I'm not meanin' to take it out on you. You did just help save New York, after all. And you did pull a concrete wall off of me."

It was cute to watch the blush spread across his pretty cheekbones. He put down his food and started fiddling with the little smart phone Maria Hill had given him not long after we'd arrived in the cafeteria. She'd left right after. He was quiet, then, and I didn't like it. Even though I was tired, I wasn't ready to go to bed. My body ached and my mind wouldn't stop replaying the day before over and over and over again in my head.

"You know what the worst thing is?" Steve looked up in surprise—it'd been a good ten minutes since we'd last talked. He thought for a moment, obviously thinking of a million things that were worse than what I thought. "I mean, not the _worst_ thing. I mean about my job."

"Besides a concrete wall falling on you?" Steve Rogers raised his perfectly-sculpted eyebrow and made me think about blushing myself. _I don't blush._

Instead, I threw a piece of biscuit at him. "Yes, besides that. I'm a PAO. A Public Affairs Officer. I'm responsible for developing a working relationship with reporters and other media representatives, keeping contact with other government agencies, and keeping internal and external publics informed on issues that may affect them. But half the time, I can't do my job. It's usually 'a training accident.' They hide everything. That's all I can ever say. But now, how are they gonna hide you? How am I supposed to explain _you_?"

His baby blues looked seemingly down into my soul. He clenched his fists like he was angry for being hidden. "Don't hide me, ma'am."

"Joan, Steve. I think we're way past a first-name basis." He didn't know how much I knew about his life. Even though I'd rambled earlier about pretty much all of my life that revolved around Granddaddy Chester, that didn't even begin to explain my obsession with the Star Spangled Man with a Plan. "You dragged me out of a crater. But enough about me. What are you gonna do now that the aliens are gone?" _How am I going to explain what you do now that the aliens—another thing I have to explain—are gone?_

"Off the record?" He said it jokingly but I could see the hardness in his eyes. I swallowed nervously. "Your dad did say that you're pretty good at your job. Not that I don't trust reporters, but..." He let the sentence taper off as he raised one perfect blond eyebrow at me.

I put down my spoon and wiped my mouth, completely stuffed and officially in food coma mode. "Off the record. Cross my heart and hope to die." I would do _anything_ for a one-on-one with Captain America. "And I'm not a reporter. Just a Public Affairs Officer who's tired of not being able to do her job."

He watched me for a moment with those pretty blue eyes and long, thick blond eyelashes. Then he sighed. "Now that..." He waved his hand in the air, trying to find the words. "All of that is dying down, I don't really know what to do." He looked so lost. He hadn't even known what the microwave was when we'd passed it. He looked like a puppy who'd been left out in a box, even as he stared down at his new cellphone.

I looked at the black rectangle that Steve had been given and figured I had a while before Maria came back to get me for my interrogation. It was hard to believe that, two weeks ago, his last memory was from seventy years ago. He had to have been so lost. _Maybe I can get that kicked puppy look off of his face._ I motioned to the phone and said, "Give it here and come sit next to me. I'll show you how to use it."

He looked at the rectangle and then back at me a few times before he got up and came to the other side of the picnic table. He handed me the rectangle and I spent the next few moments teaching him how to turn it on and off and how to change the volume. I put my number in and told him that if he ever had any questions, he just needed to start typing my name into the phone app and call me.

"It's kinda like a radio," he said later as I tried to show him how to access the internet.

"A radio with a lot of power, my friend." It took him a long time to realize that his little phone was a computer with a lot more power than just a corded phone. And he was even more confused when I told him that it could be used as a radio, too.

"Why have all of this stuff in a telephone? What's the point? It's just a telephone."

"We call this a 'cellphone'. It's convenient, I guess." I'd never really thought about why people had cellphones—we had computers, too. Why not just have one? Why have so many electronics? "Phones at home are telephones but we just call them phones. The one I talked on earlier was a satellite phone. Even with no service—" I pointed to the bars up at the top of his phone where it said _no service_ "you can call people on a satellite phone."

He looked frustrated and confused, a lot like my grandfather had when I'd tried to explain computers to him at 84-years old. "So I need service to call someone?"

I knew that it would take a long time to teach him anything. "Here, if you ever have any questions, the internet is available on your phone as long as you're connected to WiFi or you have 3G. It looks like you have both." I pointed to where the bars were for his internet connectivity. "It'll take a long time to explain, but you pretty much have a thesaurus on your phone, okay? Touch this button and Google pops up. Google is a search engine that looks across the entire internet for whatever you want to look at. Pick somethin'."

Steve looked pensive for a while. I realized that we were sitting awfully close and our arms were touching. His arm was pure, hard, iron, manly-muscle. I lost track of my own thoughts for a moment until Steve said, "Peggy Carter."

 _A woman_? I didn't know anything about Steve, other than the fact that he was my childhood hero and I'd become a PAO because of his campaign back in the 40's. I knew every word to _Star Spangled Man with a Plan_ and even all of the choreography. I was embarrassed to say anything aloud because my hero was real flesh and bone all of a sudden and I was teaching him how to use the internet. So, what, if he wanted to look up a woman on the internet? "Alright, so you touch the search bar and a keyboard comes up. Type in her name..." He did so, clumsily, as his fingers were huge and he couldn't find all of the letters quickly enough. "Hit 'Google Search'."

Dozens of articles came up on a woman named _Peggy Carter._ Under the pictures section there were multiple pictures of an older woman winning awards and a younger, beautiful woman in an English WWII-era uniform. Steve's fingers ran over the screen and hit multiple links at once, but the last one opened—a page listing all of Peggy Carter's awards and accomplishments over the years. He looked so enraptured and sad and awed that I couldn't say anything.

"They wouldn't tell me anything. About any of them." His fingers tightened dangerously around the small phone, making the case crack slightly.

"Who?" I asked softly, wanting to comfort him. I would never understand how it felt to wake up seventy years in the future, but I did know what losing teammates was like. And Steve told me about all of them. The Howling Commandos and Captain America practically ended the war against Hydra. And Steve hadn't just lost them—no, he'd been frozen for years and most of his teammates were either dead or so old that they wouldn't be the same.

I could understand why his psychiatrist and SHIELD wouldn't give any information up on his old teammates. Seeing their tombs or their wrinkled faces could possibly send him into an even deeper pit than he was already in. He was angry and scared and confused and probably a little on the PTSD wagon.

He put the phone down a little roughly and looked directly at me. In his eyes were a swirl of emotions that I couldn't fathom. "How's your shoulder?"

"What?" I looked where he was looking, at the shoulder that had popped out of place in the battle. "Oh, it's just sore," I lied.

"You should let a doctor look at that."

 _What, so they can take my arm, too?_ I didn't voice my bitterness out loud. My leg suddenly throbbed. _How long has it been? Has it been two years? Two years this month..._ "I don't exactly like doctors. Or hospitals. I've had a dislocated shoulder before, it's not a big deal."

"You should be in a sling, at least. I had a dislocated shoulder before I was...this." He motioned to himself and I felt myself actually blush a little. I turned my face away so that he couldn't see. "It took me twelve weeks to recover. That was with a sling and PT."

Twelve weeks was the longest it took for something like that to heal. Three weeks was the norm in the twenty-first century. "I'll be fine, soldier boy. I don't break easily."

"Captain Phillips," a man's voice said from above us. I looked up into the eyes of an agent that I'd never seen before. "You're needed elsewhere. Hopefully you're up to speed?" He raised an eyebrow at Steve, who was still staring at me.

"No rest for the weary, eh?" The agent didn't even crack a smile. "I may have brought him more up to speed than anything," I said with a small laugh as I stood up. My body was starting to ache and the fatigue had caught up with me. I resisted the urge to put my hand up to my shoulder and massage it, just so I wouldn't see the pity in Steve's eyes. Still, it was nothing like staying awake for days on end to finish reports or scout out dangerous terrorist bases, so I sucked it up and walked over to the man. "Captain Rogers," I said before I walked out the door.

Steve's head flew up, looking me in the eye with the same awed/confused/destroyed look from the phone. "Steve. Just Steve. Steven Rogers, ma'am."

"Steve," I said softly, smiling at him through my fatigue, "don't trust everything you read on the internet. I should know, I write some of it."


	12. 10 May 2012, 1305 Hours: ?

**This one's pretty short, so I'll upload another tomorrow. Thanks for all of the follows and reviews! I'm even in a community now. Hot diggity-dog!**

* * *

 **May 10 2012  
** **1305 hours  
** **Unknown Location**

They'd let me sleep and arranged to bring my things (what they could find from my demolished apartment of two days) to a bunk. Apparently, I was high risk and they couldn't just let me leave. The short interrogation I'd gotten had been about the basics—name, rank, why was I at West Point, what connection did I have to this person or this organization, yada yada yada. I didn't even get a cellphone, let alone another call out of the compound. _Should have used Steve's smart phone when I had the chance._ One tweet and I could have released all information I'd gathered in the past few days. They didn't leave a lot just lying around but I'd gotten some information because those people were gabberjaws.

They told me that I was in a "queue." That there were dozens of others who needed to be debriefed. I wasn't sure why they had me so far back in the queue when I was so "high risk". Still, no information from anyone. I never say anyone most of the time, anyway.

I spent my time wandering around where I wasn't restricted. There was the cafeteria, where no one except for the same server ever seemed to be, a sterile public bathroom that I'd only ever heard one other person using at a time (though every time I left there never seemed to be anyone washing their hands, gross), and a gym. A nice gym, actually. And a shooting range next to it that, surprisingly, SHIELD let me use. Everything else was past a security checkpoint that I'd tried to pass one day and alarms everywhere had gone off. That was when I discovered that I was followed. Everywhere.

So that was why I was currently hitting the stuffing out of a punching bag.

 _Exhale, throw the punch. Tighten fist and body muscles at impact._ _Bring it back._ _Left jab, right cross, left hook, right cross, left jab._ _Left jab, right uppercut, left hook, right cross._ I grabbed the bag and started hitting the side, over and over and over again until I sat back on my toes and went through my sets. I hadn't been out in the field in a while I realized and was very, very rusty. My shoulder hurt but I pushed through the pain.

"Elbows down, hands up. Put your chin down a little." I swung with a distracted punch and turned my gaze towards a relatively attractive man around my age with a nice body and thick, well-groomed black hair. His face was sculpted nicely and when he raised an eyebrow, I could see that he had some pretty molten brown eyes. "You seem a little rusty."

I rolled my own brown eyes and returned to punching the bag, imagining it was his face. _Rude._ "Man after my own heart."

"Well, I try. Relax. _Breathe._ " He started circling me, judging me, acting like he was _training_ me.

"I work alone, Miyagi."

He was quiet for a moment. I was thankful and went back to my training. Unfortunately, Pretty Hair showed up next to me with his cute little pouted lips and nothing but a tight SHIELD tank. "That's Agent, to you. Agent Ward." He started punching the bag next to mine with really great form—perfect, actually.

I pursed my lips and punched the bag in front of me with a little more force than necessary. "Well, Agent Ward, I'm just in a mood because SHIELD has held me here for five days now with no answers."

He stopped hitting and just stared at me for a while. Then he flashed what looked like an ID card that said _Level 6_. "What clearance? So that I can give you information that isn't classified to you, that is."

My gaze flickered down to my leg, but his didn't follow. _How does he think I'm an agent?_ _Do they have agents that are handicapped?_ _Who still go out in the field? And why would you just go about showing your ID to people?_ _Do I have to have a certain clearance just to get into this stronghold?_ "That's classified."

"Oh, so you're one of _those_." He looked at me again, closer, this time, scrutinizing me with a frown.

I frowned right back and had to step away as he advanced. "You don't know me, Ward."

Agent Ward held up his hands and smirked a little, seeming smug. "Let me guess. This is just a guess, now, mind you. You're the kid of a prominent officer or politician. Am I close?" I just raised an eyebrow. "Figured. Lots of money, only child—"

"Ooh, you lost there. Youngest of six, actually."

"Well, you're the only girl, then." I stared him down hauntingly. He'd backed me against my punching bag. "You went to a military academy...West Point? Or are you a Jarhead?"

"Easy pickin's. You looked at my dog tags. Eyes up from the breasts."

"All of Daddy's money and power got you a nice, cushy administrative position here at the Hub, am I right?" _So, I'm at a SHIELD stronghold called the Hub._ _Thank you, Agent Ward._

I wanted to punch him. He either hadn't noticed the leg or he was just thing to push my buttons. Or maybe—and this was a big "maybe"—he was flirting and failing really, really badly at it. "Yeah, no. Captain Phillips. I worked for the Department of Defense for a while and then West Point. I got all of my positions on my own, thank you."

"You're the PAO?" he asked with a raised eyebrow, looking impressed. He didn't even seem embarrassed about his failed profile. _He's good enough to work with Kenton at the Pentagon._ _My brother always did know how to read people._ "You worked with Generals Talbot and Ross for a while. When you left them they floundered a little bit."

I wasn't sure how he knew who I was. "Yes, and?"

"Nothing," he said offhandedly, starting to pay attention to his own punching bag now. It was like he was gone in an instant. "I've just heard that you'll be working on the Captain America Campaign, is all."

"Oh, really? What else have you heard?" _For an intelligence agency, SHIELD's agents don't know how to keep their mouths shut._ _And who the hell decided that I was going to work on a campaign?_ _I was never asked._

"Not much. Just that SHIELD is looking to enlist you." I looked down at my leg and took a few deep breaths, feeling uncomfortable. "They don't care about disabilities, you know. I know a few agents like you. They still can fight. Even better than some, believe it or not."

I couldn't meet his eyes. "Yeah, well, it's been a while since I've been out in the field."

"Not what I've heard."

This guy was really starting to piss me off. "What, do you know my _entire life story_ , Sherlock?" I didn't normally snap but I was getting frustrated.

Ward held up his hands. "No, I don't. I just heard how you held off the Chitauri in New York to save a fallen comrade. I wasn't there, but that's pretty defining in my book."

 _We aren't in New York anymore?_ _Thanks for the hint._ I smirked and gave an exhausted punch to my bag. "I was just tryin' to protect my cadets. Thanks, though...I think. You know that you're kind of an ass, right?"

"So I've been told. You know it's a crime here to impersonate an agent?"

I huffed and punched the bag one last time. "Noted."

"Wanna go a few rounds?" He raised an eyebrow at the ring in the center of the training complex.

I shook my head and took my gloves off. "No, thanks. I need to go talk to Hill about the campaign. Budgets, financing…human resources stuff." _Like who the hell decided to live my life and hire me for something I didn't agree to, for instance._ "Just work stuff, you know how it is."

"Yeah." He gave me a once-over very noticeably before turning back to his punching bag. "Let me know if you ever want to go a round. See you later, Cap."


	13. 18 May 2012, 1235 Hours: The Hub

**May 18 2012  
** **1235 hours  
** **The Hub** **  
**

It'd been exactly two weeks since aliens had attacked New York and I'd lost an entire squadron of cadets, new and old. It'd been two weeks since SHIELD had taken me in to what I knew as "The Hub" and hadn't let me see the light of day. I spent most of the days working out, in the shooting range, or trying to scrounge up new information. Frankly, I was getting bored.

I'd never gotten that talk with Maria Hill I'd been promised or anyone, for that matter. I'd been pulled in for countless physicals, though. A lot of blood had been taken. A psychiatrist kept trying to pick my mind. I wanted to fight back and demand to be seen, but I was a good soldier so I sat tight and listened. I learned as much as I could about _SHIELD_ or whatever they really were and cooled my heels a little.

My bodyguards, or so I called them, didn't talk much. I threw small talk at them, though, when they thought I didn't know they were there. They were always there, though. Outside the bathroom, outside my on call room, outside the cafeteria. I wasn't sure why they needed to be there because there were cameras everywhere, too. They even came to stand outside my physicals and sessions.

The psychiatrist pushed my buttons a little too far. I didn't trust her. She had a perfume that smelled sickeningly sweet and she asked questions back to my questions, which was annoying. Still, she was the reason that I found out that my father was a consultant for SHIELD. And he was coming in, and _then_ SHIELD would hear what the only granddaughter of Colonel Chester Phillips had to say!

I was furiously punching the hell out of a poor, innocent punching bag when my father and third brother, Kenton, walked through the gym doors and strode over to me with a purpose. I was sweat-covered but I still ran over to them and threw myself in their arms. "Thank the Lord! What took you guys so long? I've practically been held hostage, bodyguards and everythin'."

My father's eyes looked serious. He was dressed in his Army Service Uniform and medals coated every available surface of his chest. Kenton looked to be wearing Armani, of all things. _Looks like working for the Pentagon as a criminologist makes you lots of money, brother._ "We aren't here socially, Joan." I knew that when my father said that, I had to switch into business mode.

"You look good, Kent," I said to my brother as we walked out the door. I felt woefully underdressed but I was glad that I didn't have to be saddled in the walking-death-trap of a dress. "Very mature."

Kenton looked a lot like our father. Black hair (although he was starting to add some salt in that hair a little prematurely,) brown eyes (like me,) and a serious scowl that could scare a baby to stop crying. Both were a little over six foot tall and each held themselves like soldiers—even though Kenton had never been in the military. _You're, what, thirty-three this year, brother? Getting old!_ There were almost seven years between him and our eldest brother, Ashton _._ "I try," was his monotone reply.

"Tough crowd today, I guess," I mumbled as I stretched out my sore arms. I'd been boxing again. My shoulder was healing but still made me more sore than I was willing to admit. A rather nasty nightmare had woken me up the night before and I hadn't been able to get it out of my mind. Punching something helped sometimes. Since I didn't have anyone I could really talk to (besides my bodyguards but they didn't talk back) I had to punch something.

I was led through new areas of the Hub that I had never had access to before. I tried to take in as much as I could, from security protocol to new faces, but we were on a mission, apparently. I only wondered how my father and brother had access to these areas for a moment (and wondered what clearance they were) before I was distracted by keeping track of where we were.

A familiar-looking Asian woman passed by us and I almost stopped to fine-tune my memory but Kenton grabbed my arm rather roughly and kept me walking.

Four doors and eight hallways later, we walked into a large meeting room. There were holograms of old people surrounding a table full of other old people. Old, important-looking people.

Everyone stood up when we came in. I gulped, a little intimidated, but stood up straight and at attention. _Now I really feel underdressed._ Wearing nothing but a SHIELD gift-shop t-shirt and black PT shorts, I was the on the worst dressed list compared to everyone else. Still, I'd been in plenty of meetings like this before. Working as the PAO of Generals got you into meetings you never had the pay grade for and those meetings made you grow up…fast.

"General," a man greeted my father with a handshake. Chester Phillips sat down at a purposely empty seat and the two next to him were open, as well. Kenton moved to the one outside, so I took the middle, stuck between my father and brother. I didn't sit down as everyone else did. "Glad you could make it. This involves your girl and Agent Phillips."

 _Kenton is an Agent?_ "I have a name," I said indignantly. Both my father and brother looked to me incredulously, but I slammed my hands on the table and looked every member in the eye. "I've been here for two weeks and I haven't gotten a single answer. I've been patient and calm and even gave you my blood and talked to your psychologist, but now I want answers. What do you want with me, where the hell is this "Hub," and why was I told that I was put in charge of Captain America's public affairs?"

The room was quiet for a moment until a black man with an eyepatch huffed a laugh and stood up at the head of the table. His one good eye looked at mine and I had the grace to feel a little embarrassed at my own behavior. My father and brother were tense beside me at the sight of this man. _He must be important._ "You sure are good at your job, aren't you, Captain?"

I crossed my arms and just stared back. "I'd like to think so. Unfortunately, the only electronic device that I've been able to use for the past two weeks has been a microwave, so I haven't been able to _do_ that job here. The public is scared and people know me, they _trust_ me. They want to hear what's happened—the _real_ story, not some 'trainin' accident' crap that I've been forced to spew before. I doubt you can make aliens turn into a trainin' accident."

The whole room just stared at me. My brother grabbed my arm and pulled me down, into my chair, growling angry words into my ear. "What are you _doing?!_ That's Director Fury you're speakin' to!" I ignored him and just stared at the eyepatch man who was ominously wearing all black, including a trench coat.

Fury just laughed again and walked around the table, towards the holograms. Another hologram came up, this time of my grandfather. My heart hurt a little as I stared at him, muted, but he was speaking to a camera. "This is a video of your grandfather, before he died." It seemed like he was going to ignore my little outburst.

"1996," I said softly, leaning back in the surprisingly comfortable chair and crossing my arms. "I was ten. He was eighty-six at the time."

"In this video," Fury said, acting as if I'd never interrupted him, "he explains all that he wanted SHIELD to become. He was one of the founding members of SHIELD, you know." _No, I didn't know._ "Throughout this video, all he can talk about is you, Captain. You and Steve Rogers."

I remembered back to the soft blush on the beautiful man's cheeks. I remembered his small smile and laugh. Then, I remembered all of the stories that my grandfather had told of him and smiled.

"All he ever wanted was for SHIELD to be a place where his grandchildren could work and thrive, protecting the world from information it can't quite handle. He wanted you to be able to meet Steve Rogers. And you have, apparently."

"Great guy. Taught him how to use the internet." My brother looked at me like I'd grown a second head. He slapped me under the table so I elbowed him in the side hard enough to make him cough.

"Because of your lineage and the fact that you know much more than you should, we're prepared to offer you a job, Captain Phillips." His words sent warning signals off in my head. _So, what, I just take the job or you kill me? Are those my options? What is this, some kind of secret agent movie?_ "Your father works as a consultant for us, as do a few of your uncles. Your brother, Kenton, is a Communications Agent. Your brother, Riley, was in training to become a Specialist before he was Killed in Action." At the mention of my dead brother, I clenched my jaw and glared at the man. "Your family is not a stranger to working with SHIELD."

I was furious _._ That didn't happen often. I'd never even heard of this government organization before, and now I was some heiress to it? Half of my family had been working for them right under my nose and I'd never even suspected! "I guess it depends. How much do I get to know and how much does the public get to know?"

"Concerning Captain America," a man at the other side of the table said, "you'll be able to tell the world whatever he cares to disclose and what you deem necessary. I believe you told your father that he's, what was it..."

My father gave my shoulder a squeeze. "'He's a national treasure meant to be shared with the world.' And you're right. He'll raise morale, recruitment will increase, and I believe that America would love to have someone to look up to who's not...well..."

"The Hulk? Tony Stark?" a man asked on the opposite side of the table. The room laughed but I didn't find anything funny. Those men were heroes.

"What will my duties be?" I asked, ignoring the laugh that filled the room. I had a lot of questions, most that probably wouldn't be answered, but I wouldn't be doing my job if I didn't ask.

"Promote Captain America, of course." This came from some man who didn't have his nameplate pointed in my direction.

I narrowed my eyes. "You mean Steve Rogers."

The old man chuckled. "Sure, of course." He didn't mean it, though. He and most likely everyone in that room saw him as some kind of weapon. As an object. As something they _owned._ But he was a human being, unlike some of the other people in the room. "You'll promote him, make sure he looks good in the news, photo shoots. And you'll watch him for…less than favorable symptoms."

I raised an eyebrow at that, rather surprised. _They want a soldier stock-full of PTSD to watch someone else for the same sympoms? Smart._ "Alright…but I don't believe in psychology. I know the symptoms, obviously, but—"

"You'll be fine, we're sure," a man across from Kenton said. He looked like a weasel. Coffee-creamed skin, glasses, and a bald head. His placecard said _Jasper Sitwell._ I didn't like the way he stared at me.

I bit my cheek to keep from saying something my father would regret. "Alright, fine. And concernin' everythin' involvin' SHIELD?" I asked. "Will I be a consultant?"

"We'd like to have you as an Agent, to be honest," Sitwell said, sickeningly sweet. "You'd be an asset to SHIELD."

Riley had almost been a Specialist. Before he'd died, he'd believed in SHIELD. So did my father and brothers and a few of my uncles. Still, I couldn't get the feeling of dread to leave my stomach. I'd been detained for two weeks, for what? "Why all the smoke and mirrors? If I'm such an _asset_ , why treat me like a criminal?"

"We've been watching you," Fury said then, clasping his hands behind him. "Training in the gym, at the shooting range. You'd make a great specialist."

I stared down at my leg and felt insecure in my abilities. "No offense, Director, but I don't think you'd want me was an agent. I think I'm fine outside the system." I stood up, intent on leaving.

"Joan Margaret," my father scolded in a way that I hadn't heard since I'd been eight-years-old and trying to sneak out from doing the dishes. I blushed angrily and turned back around.

"I said I won't be an agent," I said bitingly, staring around the table at everyone who thought I was some bigshot. I glared at my father especially. They expected me to fill the biggest shoes of all—my grandfather. My role model. The most important person I'd ever had in my life and they wanted me to be _him_. Everyone always had. Even Colonel Chester Phillips had expected that and more—he had wanted me to be Steve Rogers, a feat almost impossible. Well, I had news for them—I was Joan Margaret Phillips and that's what they were stuck with. "I never said anythin' about not consultin' on the Captain America Campaign."


	14. 15 June 2012, 0854 Hours: Stark Tower

**June 15 2012  
0854 hours  
Stark Tower**

I spent almost a month being trained and doing research. In that month, I still hadn't left the Hub. My few meager belongings were in a common on-call bunk and I spent most of my days with the information I was _allowed_ to have on Captain America. In all reality, I'd locked myself in a room every day to study and learn what I needed to learn. Most of it was via an internal computer that was filled with pictures of him (that didn't let me contact the outside world, unfortunately; I even tried hacking but that was a no-go too). There wasn't much on SHIELD besides the information on how Steve became Captain America. Pictures of his life and how he became the super soldier filled the files—detailed information on the serum that a Dr. Erskine had created combined with a machine that Tony Stark's father had put together created the man I had met.

I didn't understand half of the mumbo-jumbo medical talk that filled some of the files. My youngest brother, Parker, would have jumped with joy and started spewing nerd nonsense that he knew I didn't understand.

All I could imagine the entire time I studied my subject was my picture of what I dubbed "Little Steve". I'd had it since Granddaddy Chester had passed. He'd given me the picture frame and told me to trust my heart and always protect the little guy. A little guy like the "before" Steve. Such a young man, full of hope and promise, would show the world that there was hope. That people were still _good._ I could imagine the articles that would be written on him, imagine the news coverage and how easy it would be to market him. (Easier than the United States Military, anyway.) There would always be dissenters in the crowd, but I had a feeling that there would be a lot less when it came to America's sweetheart Steve Rogers.

After that month of studying, I'd been released to see the world. A big black SUV and two SHIELD Agents greeted me before I was shoved into said SUV and the agents sped up. They were weaving in and out of the highways and back roads, so I knew I'd never remember how to get back to the Hub. _Oh well._

On the long, three-hour drive, the men talked softly in the front seat. The last conversation went something like this: "Did you hear about that string of bank robberies down the East Coast?"

"Yeah, it was alien tech left over from the Battle of New York. They sent Sitwell out to investigate."

 _Sitwell—the mousey guy who rubbed me the wrong way._ "For a secret intelligence agency," I said, watching as their eyes flicked to mine in the rearview, "ya'll sure do talk a lot."

They were quiet until we reached Manhattan.

Stark Tower hadn't been under construction long, but it definitely looked better than what I'd seen in pictures from directly after the aliens attacked. In fact, _everything_ looked better. New York didn't look near as haggard as it should have been for having been attacked a little over a month before. Then again, life kept going. People worked hard and cleaned everything up—either that, or SHIELD had.

I'd mostly said "okay" to the consulting position because I wanted to keep an eye on SHIELD. That and West Point had a lot of work to get done before it was open to teaching positions again. It had lost three-fourths of its student body and over half of its staff. I had been one of the lucky ducks…if you considered outliving your students and comrades lucky. I needed something to keep me busy and if that was babysitting an Avenger, then I could do it.

Stark Tower was huge and rose up hundreds of floors into the sky. The bottom floor was filled with people running around in suits, hardhats, and lab coats. _One of the strangest combinations I've ever seen._

I was stopped by a man nicknamed "Happy" on the ground floor of Stark Tower. "You Joan Phillips?" Happy asked as he looked over something on an expensive-looking tablet in front of him. It made sense that Stark employees had the best equipment.

 _I'll have to get used to not being called 'Captain.'_ "Yes sir," I said as I shifted my bag higher onto my shoulder.

He triple checked something and then held a picture of me up next to my face. Then he gave me a once-over using some kind of electronic device, only skimming my blade leg before nodding. "Of course. You'll be on the seventy-fifth floor with Rogers. Here's your badge and passcodes. Shred this as soon as it's memorized."

I looked at the information and then tore it right in front of his eyes. "Done." He raised an eyebrow but didn't do anything but keep the same, stoic expression on is face. "Any rules, regulations I need to watch out for?"

"Floors seventy-six and up are off limits," he said seriously. "Those are Mr. Stark's personal quarters. Also, levels thirty-five to sixty. Labs and such."

I nodded and put the lanyard he gave me around my neck. "Noted. If there's nothing else, it's been a long ride."

"Of course." He stepped out of the way and motioned me into the elevator. "Ask Jarvis for me if you need anything." I wasn't sure who Jarvis was but I figured that I would know sooner or later.

There was a place to put in my passcode as soon as the doors closed. It was one of the quickest, quietest rides of my life. The doors opened and I was awed. No one seemed to be home at that point in time so I took a look around.

I peered around the floor where I'd been told I'd be living. Same floor as Steve Rogers, but each of the Avengers had their own floors apparently. I only needed one room, I'd said, not an entire floor! Most of my flats throughout the years had been little holes in the wall because I was never home. I didn't need a lot of room. Tony Stark had opened his home to me once Pepper Potts had insisted on it.

The room I walked into was beautiful—huge, with multiple levels for hosting people and parties. Below were seats and tables meant for chatting. Midway up was a bar that I would stay very, very far away from. _I might even get rid of what's stocked._ Next to it was the kitchen, so I knew I couldn't just stay away from the alcohol. Even higher was a dance floor and more places to sit and converse with others. Everything was sleek and beautiful—and new, obviously.

"Hello, Miss Phillips," a rather humanized computer voice said from somewhere around me. I jumped but wasn't too surprised—it was _Tony Stark_ for crying out loud. Still, I had to unclench my hands from reaching for a holster that wasn't there. "I am JARVIS, the virtual intelligence of the complex. Your living space is room 4B. Do you need assistance with your luggage?"

"Ah, Jarvis…right." I looked at the backpack and small suitcase I'd brought with me and huffed in a laugh. "No, thank you. I may need help navigatin' at some point, though."

"I am everywhere," he said simply, sounding just as close as he had when I'd been standing by the elevator but now I was by my room. "Simply ask and I will help."

I used the biometric keypad and entered the password I'd been given by Happy, gaining access to my room. I whistled—it'd been a while since I'd had such nice digs. 'A while' as in 'since I'd lived with my parents _._ ' "Damn," I said, dropping my bag by the door. "Must be nice to be a billionaire."

The room was rather large, a bed taking up the back of the central wall. On either side of the XL King were windows that looked out onto New York from floor to ceiling—and not one of those crappy views where all you could see was the wall of the building next to it. No, this was the view that went on for _miles_ until the fog covered the horizon. The colors were black and gold, as if playing on the Army colors. Everything looked more expensive than what I made in a year and I made a good deal. There was a large walk-in closet that I'd have to eventually fill and a bathroom that connected. I'd never been a bath-taking kind of girl but I would have to try out the jacuzzi tub at some point. The shower was big enough for five people and I was pretty sure that some of the detail on the counter was pure gold.

"Is the room to your approval, Miss Phillips?" JARVIS asked. I had a feeling he already knew.

"Definitely," I said as I went and sat down on my bed. I saw that there was a television above my door, perfect for watching if I was lying in bed. I fell back and let my muscles relax. "Where is everyone?"

"Mr. Stark and Miss Potts are off discussing the future of Stark Industries and working with the Stark Relief Foundation for those who need help after the Battle of New York. Dr. Banner is two floors below, studying astronomical processes in which very high-energy electrons are produced, that in turn cause secondary gamma rays via _bremsstrahlung_ , inverse Compton scattering, and synchrotron radiation." I was starting to be sorry I asked. "Thor is on Asgard. Agent Barton and Romanoff are on personal leave. Captain Rogers is away at the moment."

One question had been bugging me for a very, very long time. It felt wrong to ask, but I somehow knew that JARVIS was a neutral party. "Hey, Jarvis. Does Mr. Stark know who I am?"

The virtual intelligence was quiet for a moment. "Captain Phillips, United States Army. Granddaughter of Colonel Chester Phillips. You have worked as a Public Affairs Officer since you graduated West Point in 2007. I see that you were stationed in Kunar Province, Afghanistan around the same time as Mr. Stark was abducted. I assume that you asking this question means that you met Mr. Stark while stationed there."

"You could say that," I said, looking up to the sparkling ceiling above me. I sighed in relief and realized that Tony Stark wouldn't try to rehash everything that we'd gone through almost two years before. "Nevermind, JARVIS, it doesn't matter. If he doesn't recognize me, that's all the better."

"He may ask me to look into you if he does recognize you, Captain."

"Call me Joan, JARVIS. And if he does, I don't mind. I don't have anything to hide. I can save you the trouble, though, and tell you that I was drivin' Mr. Stark's humvee when the insurgents attacked in Afghanistan. I tried to save him, even tackled him out of the way of a missile. That's how I lost my leg."

"Yes ma'am. Thank you for confiding in me." I noticed that he still hadn't called me by my first name, like I'd asked him. "Anything else you'd liked to get off your chest?"

I thought for a moment, forgetting to ask about clearing out all of the alcohol outside. "Nope, surprisingly good. You?"

"I'm just a computer program, Joan."

"Of course you are."

* * *

 **We'll get more Steve in the next chapter - and a lot of Steve, at that! Let me know what you think. -LCB**


	15. 15 June 2012, 1432 Hours: Stark Tower

**June 15 2012  
** **1432 hours  
** **Stark Tower** **  
**

Steve went up to the seventy-fifth floor of Stark Tower to take a shower in his room after a modest twelve miles. He'd gotten used to living at the large, ugly tower since the Battle of New York. He'd slowly been trying to understand the world around him and how it had changed. 2012 was a lot different than 1942. He knew it and everyone else knew it. _If Stark calls me "Old Man" one more time, I may have to punch him._ Steve was only technically twenty-six years old (twenty-seven on July fourth). He wasn't _that_ old. His morals were old but he wasn't.

 _I mean, hell, I travelled with the Army. Everyone knows what it's like in the barracks, all the things guys talk about while deployed. And all the girls in the choir know that I wasn't as moral as I could have been._

Steve sighed and made his way to his room. No one was ever there at Stark Tower anymore, so it surprised him to hear a voice in the vacant room next to his. _That PR agent wasn't coming today, was he?_ Steve had been told, rather than asked, that he'd be getting someone to make him look good to the public. He'd had an assistant before, back during WWII. The man had made him look like a national hero. _As long as this guy doesn't bring back Star Spangled Man With a Plan, I'm sure we'll be fine._

He didn't mind being told how to act in public, as long as it didn't go against everything he believed in. He'd have to tread lightly in the twenty-first century. He didn't know what was right or wrong or what would make him and the Avengers look like laughing-stocks.

Steve was going to just meet the man later, but, just as he was entering his room, he heard a woman singing. _"Who's strong and brave here to save the American way?_ " It was soft but Steve would recognize that song one-hundred miles away. He figured that Tony had figured out how much he really disliked that song and had it on repeat in the room across from the Super Soldier's. He groaned and rubbed a hand over his face. _"Who vows to fight like the man for what's right night and day? Who will campaign door-to-door for America? Carry the flag shore-to-shore for—_ " That was when the door opened. "For America."

There, he saw a familiar freckled face. Long, wavy, dirty blonde hair was pulled up into a messy bun behind the athletic woman's frame. Big brown eyes looked up at him from under thick but well-groomed eyebrows. She even had painted her lips a pretty maroon to match her complexion. She was wearing a simple black pencil skirt that cinched up to her waist and ended down below her knees and a white button-up shirt tucked into it. Completing the old-fashioned ensemble was a black pump on one foot and a relatively real-looking prosthetic (with the same pump) on the other and her dogtags around her neck.

She tucked those dogtags under her shirt when she saw him staring—he was pretty sure he'd seen a diamond ring on there as well. "The Star Spangled Man With a Plan," she said softly with a small smile of those perfectly-maroon lip. No other makeup graced her freckled face. "Nice to see you again, Rogers."

Steve looked at her for a lot longer than he should have. "Captain Phillips!"

"I told you, call me Joan. It's not Captain anymore. Guess you could say that I'm retired. Got the blue ID* to prove it." She had such a pretty smile. It'd been over a month since he'd seen her, but he still remembered their talk after the Battle of New York. She'd put her phone number in his black rectangle but he'd forgotten how to really use it. "Just gettin' done with a workout?"

"Yeah," he said simply, leaning against the door frame of his room, which was right across from hers. He gave her a once-over again as he crossed his arms and noticed that she had blushed a little under her freckles. "I assume you _aren't_ going to work out?"

She shook her head and held up what looked like a large smart phone—he learned later that it was called a "tablet," not the same kind one took when they were sick. On this tablet was a New York Times article of him and the rest of the Avengers; the public was demanding action against the heroes for the damage they'd caused during the Battle of New York. "Good assumption; I'm already tryin' to work. I've got to let the public know that the Avengers aren't liable for the damage of Manhattan. But, I also need all of you to help with relief efforts to show some goodwill to the public. I'm already plannin' some photo opportunities for a few of you—you'll be helpin' fix an elementary school. Tony Stark will be workin' with the Stark Relief Foundation—and Pepper will oversee that. I can't do much about Thor, unfortunately, and I'm not quite sure where Romanoff and Barton are. I'm gonna figure out what to do with Dr. Banner at another time."

Steve stared at the woman in front of him in a different way, this time. The last time he'd seen a woman so invested in her job was Maria Hill and the time before that, Peggy Carter. He realized that this was the woman who was going to be in charge of his image. "I thought you were just _my_ PR agent." _Not all of the Avengers._

"Well, you _are_ an Avenger. The Avengers are part of you. I have to convince the public that the Avengers are good and therefore, so are you. It's a big task but I think I'm up for the job. If I can make the Jericho missile look good, then I can make Tony Stark look good, and, in turn, you. It's a win-win for all of you."

The last thing Steve could picture was anyone making Tony look good—not that the man-out-of-time hadn't grown to care for the man of iron. In fact, he was starting to see Stark's charm. Stark was a lot like his dad in that way. But the man was a walking PR nightmare. "Well, I wish you luck. It'll be difficult convincing the public of anything right now. The world's started blaming us, governments, anything they can to justify the alien attack. You taught me how to use the Google, but I've mostly been sticking to the newspapers and television. Even the papers are full of propaganda about us."

"Google."

"What?"

"It's Google, not 'the Google.'"

"Oh."

"You'll learn, just like me," she said with a laugh. "When SHIELD doesn't want you even readin' a newspaper, you're pretty shut off from the world. I have, however, spent the last month studyin' _you_ and everything that SHIELD has given me about you."

"Me?" He felt as though she was looking through him with some futuristic x-ray machine. _I would be surprised if they_ didn't _have one of those already._ He felt practically naked in front of her probing eyes. "You've been studying nothing but me for the last month?"

"Believe it or not, there's a lot that I still don't know about you. How about you hop in the shower and I take you out for dinner so I can learn from the source?" The way she said it, it sounded a lot like she was asking him out on a date. He wasn't sure whether to blush or make a joke about it. So he made a joke about it.

"Did you just ask me out on a date, Captain Phillips?"

"Maybe I did," she said with a laugh as she walked away from him, "but that would be unprofessional of me." He was surprised to hear her say that she maybe _had_ asked him out—he'd never had a woman ask him out and he'd never really asked another woman out, unless you counted Peggy saving a dance for him. Her hips swayed as she walked away.

* * *

 ***When someone in the military retires, they get a nifty blue military ID to show it. (Normal ID's are tan-ish.)**

 **There's another short one chapter I'll post in the next couple of days for all ya'll. :)**


	16. 15 June 2012, 1525 Hours: Stark Tower

**15 June 2012  
1525 hours  
Stark Tower**

Steve changed in to a plaid button-up and a pair of khakis after taking a shower. He grabbed his wallet and keys and left his room, leaving the strange plastic card that SHIELD had given them. They said that there was money on it but he didn't believe it. He'd had Romanoff pick him up some cash instead and there was about thirty dollars to his name at that point. He hoped it was enough.

Joan was sitting in what Steve called the "living room," a pencil in her mouth as papers were spread out all around her. "JARVIS," she called out to the virtual voice that seemed to follow Tony Stark everywhere, "is there any way for me to put all of these newspapers up on some screens? And maybe get some put up in my room? It'd make life a lot easier for me."

"I can do you one better," the male, British voice said clearly. "In the end table next to you you'll find a hand-held device. This is a miniaturized version of me. Use it to create holographic screens of whatever information you would like."

Joan picked up a small device from the end table and held it over her papers before holding it in front of her. Floor to ceiling images appeared—from pictures of him to videos of the Battle of New York to articles on all of the Avengers. "Thanks, J! This will definitely help. I can use this anywhere in the building?"

"Yes ma'am. Miss Potts has given you access to every level of the complex, excluding Mr. Stark's personal quarters and lab. She wants you to, and I quote, 'make the Avengers something to look up to and be proud of.'"

There was a smile on her face. In her eyes, there was a sparkle that made Steve smile too. "She knows I'm just here for Steve, right?"

"I think I speak for Miss Potts when I say that you won't stop with just me," Steve said as he leaned against the nearest wall. Joan jumped and turned. For a moment, there was a cold steel in her eyes that sent a shiver down his spine. Like she was ready to attack. When she noticed it was him, she relaxed and gave him a tense smile. Her gaze traveled up and down his body once—very quickly, almost unnoticeable—but it made him feel naked under her gaze yet again. Those eyes seemed like they could read his very soul. "Ready to go, or should I leave you to your work?"

"I can read a paper or watch a video anytime," she said as she put the device in a small purse he hadn't seen. The projects disappeared. Her big brown eyes looked up to his in wonder. "It's not every day I get to have dinner with Captain America." He felt irritated only for a moment that she used his title and not his name. It wasn't her fault, it was her job. She then looked him over again and held a hand to her chin. "Hmm...we'll need to update your look, though."

"My look?" He looked down at his brown loafers, khakis, and button-up shirt and saw nothing wrong. "What's wrong with my look?"

"It's a little too... _old_ _man_." She dug around in her purse and pulled out a pair of sunglasses that looked strange. "Here's some Aviators. Wear them and we'll go shoppin' after dinner. Any place in particular you want to go?"

Steve thought on that for a while. When he'd been younger, his family had been going through what eventually became known as "The Great Depression." They tried to save money and rarely went out, but he'd always imagined going to some of the fancy restaurants he'd seen along the streets. Even when he'd had money, during the war, there hadn't been a lot of time to go out. Plus the national rationing had made it difficult for any restaurants to have the necessary foodstuffs.

Joan's fingers waved in front of his face. He shook his head and finally focused enough to see that she looked concerned. "Hey, it's okay. We can just get a burger or somethin', alright? Or we can order in, I'm okay with that, too."

"No, it's fine. I need to get out. See the world. The Google can only show me so much."

The woman in front of him looked like she was holding in a laugh. "It's just 'Google,' Steve. Come on, I'll take you out."

* * *

 **The next chapter is my longest yet! Gotta have some set up to the goodness. :)**


	17. 15 June 2012, 1600 Hours, Manhattan, NYC

**June 15 2012  
** **1600 hours  
** **Manhattan, New York**

Downtown Manhattan was bustling with activity. No one noticed two regular people walking around on the streets, even if one was a muscular hunk and I was missing a leg. I tried to explain as much as I could to Steve when he asked—what was "The Lion King," what was a "Verizon," what was a "Diet Coke." (For some reason he was still confused on that, even though it was the most delightful beverage in the world.) I tried to explain as much as I could and, if I couldn't, "The Google" was my friend.

I couldn't help but noticed that he looked a little…on edge. I wasn't a big fan of crowds either, but he really looked tense. _Knew I should have taken him a little further out._ He wasn't used to this lifestyle. He wasn't used to this time. Apparently he'd been sent away while I'd been in the Hub to some safehouse to learn about the current day and age. It'd saved him some stress, but it seemed to be coming back. Rather than risk what I figured to be a PTSD panic attack, I looked for a hiding place.

We passed by a clothing boutique with a beautiful leather jacket in it—something that Steve would look smashing in. I grabbed his arm and pulled him inside. He didn't relax but I didn't see the crazy look in his eye anymore. "Good madame," I said to the snooty-looking store manager, "my husband needs an updated style. He's a little old-fashioned, so it's okay to keep him that way. Just make it a modern old-fashioned, do you get what I mean?"

Her eyes were like hawk eyes that gleamed in sight of prey. She grabbed Steve's arm and pulled him away with an evil smile on her face. Steve's face begged me to help him but I just waved and smiled.

My job wasn't only to monitor Steve's presence in the papers or on television—it was also to manage every aspect of his life. This meant his mental health, too. Fury had asked me to specifically watch how he was coping with everyday life and report back on a weekly basis. Apparently he hadn't been out of Stark Tower since the attack unless it was to go to a small gym in Brooklyn (and the safe house). His psychiatrist came to him every other day to check on his mental health but that wasn't working, according to the files I'd been reading.

 _I could have told them that. He has no infrastructure._ Since there was no family aspect to returning him to health, I was charged with getting to know the man. It felt shady to me but they promised that it was what the superhuman needed.

So now I was with Steve. Eventually, he would get tired of me. After that, he would get used to me. I was to stick to him every moment of every day and, not only market him, but help him discover this strange new world he was living in. I'd had similar projects with Generals and high-ranking government officials. I made them look, sound, and act like God's gift to human kind.

But this wasn't only that. I was in charge of another human being's mental health. It was so much more than my own issues—we'd both been in war, we'd both seen so many things, but he was now without friends, without a home, and without the world he grew up in. The world was a crazy, messed up place and he'd been thrown into it without any guidance.

"This is cruel and unusual punishment," Steve said over the door of his dressing room a little while later, after having been measured and prodded and shoved in there with dozens of different pants and shirts and suits and ties. "I was tricked!"

I shook my head out of my own demented thoughts. "We will get some clam chowder, I promise," I laughed as I read through some of the magazines sitting on the table in the waiting portion of the dressing room. There was a really interesting article on Pepper Potts being one of the one-hundred most powerful women in the world. Forbes poked a little at her starting assistant position but the rest of the article was spot on. "Now come out of there so I can see. I promise I'll tell you if somethin' looks ridiculous."

He came out and I was actually incredibly impressed. Perfectly-cut designer jeans and a dark blue button-up, but the poor guy had buttoned it all the way to his neck and all the way down his arms. Some nice black Paul Parkman captoes finished off the ensemble on his feet, plus a shiny Rolex on the right wrist. I couldn't say anything as I cleared my throat and stood up, rubbing my sweaty palms on my pencil skirt. I came up to him and unbuttoned his sleeves, rolling them up to bare some beautiful forearms. Then, I unbuttoned a few of the top buttons of the shirt to just barely show the white t-shirt he had on underneath. It formed tantalizingly to his body.

"There," I said with a rather shaky voice. "You look...well, you look great."

The perfectly-straight, white-toothed smile he sent me made my knees shake a little. The heeled prosthetic didn't help any with that. _God, he's pretty. Very, very pretty. Too pretty. Prettier than me._ I wasn't normally petty, but damn, it was something for a man to be prettier than a woman.

"You two make a beautiful couple," the madame said as she brought a few more suits in for Steve's perusal. I'd forgotten that I'd said he was my husband—her assumption made me blush. I hadn't wanted any questions asked. "Can I offer the missus some clothes as well?"

"No, not today," I said simply smiling at her. "I'll be growin' exponentially in the next few months and I don't want to buy clothes that I won't be able to wear." I patted my stomach to finish the statement and pulled Steve's hand over to rest there.

"That'll be one beautiful child." The woman smiled and left, never the wiser.

When I turned to look at Steve, his face was literally on fire. It took him a little too long to move his hand from my stomach. "What was _that_ about?"

He was so cute, all about truth and justice. I picked up the brown leather jacket I'd seen in the pile of his clothes and started helping him put it on. "When it comes to bein' on the street, we'll come up with quite a few personas to keep your real identity hidden. If I'd come in as your 'agent,' questions would have been raised and you would have been found out. If I had just said that you needed clothes, she would most likely have assumed that I was your mistress that wanted to change you into a more fashionable you and then, once again, questions would be raised—store clerks are really nosy and you'd be found out. We don't look enough alike to be siblings...maybe cousins. And, like she said, we make such a cute couple." I poked him on the nose and turned him to look in the mirror, hanging his (my) Aviators in the V of the button up. I smoothed the shoulders of his jacket down with shaky hands (because _damn_ , those shoulders were nice) and smiled into his reflection over his shoulder. "There. What do you think?"

He didn't look at himself for long. I'd been looking at him, though, and when I met his eyes I saw that he was looking at me, instead. "I'm thinking about how I can afford this. I was never able to afford a Rolex before."

I gently pulled the jacket off of him, letting my hand run down his very, _very_ muscular back. Then I quickly pulled away and busied myself folding up some of the shirts that were the correct size that I was sure he would look good in. _Damn it, keep it together, Phillips. He's just a man. A very, very attractive man that you get to shadow for a very long time._ "You've got a lot of backpay comin' to you. Plus, you invested in a lot of bonds in the 40's and those don't just go away. SHIELD put them up, stored them...just in case they ever found you."

He was back in the changing room now, neatly hanging up the clothes he'd had on and trying on the others I threw over the door at him. "How much backpay, exactly?"

"You could buy Brooklyn, if you wanted." I flipped through a few more magazines—I hadn't expected such a hoity-toity store to use magazines in the waiting area of the dressing room. I placed one on my lap to hide a hole in the thigh of my hose. _I wish that I could buy Brooklyn._ There were some nice items I'd been looking at out in the lobby but I definitely couldn't afford them. "But SHIELD has most of the check. You know, make you look good, make them look good, all that jazz."

"Why don't you get you something, then?"

It was like he read my mind. While I had some money away in savings (West Point paid for college and being an officer paid well,) I'd always pictured using it to buy a house one day—not one article of clothing around the same price. "Saving up for the farmhouse in the country. Couple acres of land, a few dogs, maybe a barn cat."

"Husband, kids, the American Dream?"

I raised an eyebrow. I couldn't see his face, but it sounded like he was being sarcastic. _Steve Rogers not believing in the American Dream? Something wrong there._ "Yeah, actually. I'll pass on the kids for now, though. I've got some nephews to make up for that. Eventually I'm going to hang up my shield and relax. It's the least people like us deserve."

Steve came out in an Yves Saint-Laurent (worth more than my outfit, hair, and prosthetic put together) and it looked a little strange on him. He looked amazing, of course, but he fidgeted a little, like a kid whose mom made him dress up. "You think we can do that?" he asked, leaning against the wall of the dressing room and looking at me. "Just stop?"

"What's this, Twenty Questions?" I asked as I laid the magazine down on a table. Tony Stark stared up at me in the latest Gucci suit. "I'm supposed to be learnin' about _you_ , Rogers."

"Steve. You want me to call you Joan, you call me Steve." He turned to look in the mirror, pulling on his coattails and the cuffs of his suit uncomfortably. "And if I'm going to be spending a lot of time with you, I want to make sure you're the kind of person I _want_ to spend time with."

Those baby blues looked me dead in the eye as I stood up, ignoring the hole in my hose, and spread my hands across his shoulders experimentally. _Damn, still nice. Try to get him off this subject._ "Little tight. With suits, we'll have to get yours custom made."

"Won't be the first time." Those eyes still hadn't left mine. "You're changing the subject."

So, Steve was worried about trusting me. I didn't blame him. Everyone that SHIELD had thrown at him had lied—from the second he woke up with that psychiatrist lady dressed in old-fashioned clothing to Fury keeping secrets from him when they'd been searching for Loki. Technically, I wasn't being extremely truthful either. I was sure that if he knew that I'd read his psych report and that I was supposed to watch over him, he'd want me to leave.

I motioned for him to go back into the dressing room, intent on reading an article on Tony Stark's World's Fair from a few years back. "So, no kids for you, then? Wife, loving family, loyal golden retriever?"

Steve Rogers—America's sweetheart, All-American boy—was quiet. _I hit some kind of nerve there, apparently._ I got a little worried for a moment, wondering what was going on in that gorgeous head of his. "I thought that's what I wanted, a long time ago. Now I'm not sure what I want. Don't know if I can...stop, that is. Don't know if I can stop fighting the good fight. Don't know if I should."

My heart clenched. While I hadn't seen him with kids, I knew his would be beautiful and it seemed like he'd be good with him. But there was definitely something dark in his heart. Something that would only heal with time—and maybe not even then. I knew, I had it. I was reminded of it every night as the nightmares played on the backs of my eyelids.

"Understandable," I said after a brief pause, my voice steadier than it should have been. Steadier than I felt. "Even after I was wounded, I didn't want to be desked. But I was so I did what I could to help my country even then. Still didn't stop...even when The Man told me to."

"Now you're campaigning. For me." He didn't come out for the next outfit—I was curious but I didn't push. A small smirk formed on my lips when I saw that it was a pair of men's designer swim trunks that he practically threw over the top of the dressing room door.

 _Good old Steve, bringing the conversation back to my job._ "Yep. America needs hope, now more than ever. And you can give hope to just about anyone."

He was quiet. I wasn't sure if he liked the fact that he was this symbol of greatness. One day, Steve would be immortalized in magazines, newspapers, movies, and more, all over the world. He had been, once before. And it was gonna happen again if I had anything to say about it.

He walked back out in his original outfit—awful plaid shirt and not-so-bad khakis. He hung the glasses on the V of his button-up and he grabbed the leather jacket from the hanger next to me. "Some of these items I don't mind much."

Magazine finished, I set it down and helped him grab the few articles of clothing he decided he liked enough. I even grabbed the swim trunks, sure that he thought that they were too revealing. _Too bad._ My stomach started growling around that time. He looked at me pointedly and I laughed. "Okay, okay, food now. No other stops, I promise." _As long as you don't look ready to break out into a PTSD attack. I know the signs. It would be bad for both aspects of my job._

His eyes suddenly became incredibly serious. We stopped moving in a small hallway and he stood over me. Towering, really. I was tall, muscular woman, but he was a giant superhuman man who could probably punch me through a wall. My body tensed, ready for a fight, but he didn't seem to notice or give me space. "I don't know what your promise means just yet."

The switch of the conversation confused me. We'd been having a pleasant conversation for a moment there. "It's just food, Steve. I'm not going to lie about one of my favorite things in this world."

"Why did SHIELD put you on my campaign? Is there really a campaign? You were so conveniently there before the Battle of New York. You were there again, in the Hub. So why don't you tell me why you're really on SHIELD's payroll."

Panic. Even though there was no real reason to panic. I was caught in a small room with a very large man who seemed intent on picking a fight. _Steve isn't the only one who needs to be watched. I'm a ticking time bomb._ Eventually he would find out that I was Fury's lapdog, but there in that designer store, it was not that day. "What are you implying?"

"I don't need another SHIELD lackey following me around."

"I made them stop sending agents after you, just as I made them stop following me." It was true. As we stood less than a breath apart, staring each other down, I thought back to the meeting with my father, brother, and Fury. I'd demanded that neither of us have tails anymore. "So get over yourself."

Suddenly the madame of the store came back into our hallway. "You two lovebirds checking out?" She looked curious but not overtly so.

I grabbed Steve's (very muscular) arm and pulled him along with me. I tried to control my breathing and not look like a scared, cornered animal. "Of course! We were just discussin' the baby. My husband doesn't want to know the gender. He wants to be surprised."

The woman fussed over how long we had until the baby was born, not even seeing a bump yet (as she shouldn't have). As she started to ring up his clothes, Steve leaned down and placed his lips next to my ear. I tensed again. This time he seemed to notice but he still did nothing to rectify it. "You're an awfully convincing liar, Joan."

I gritted my teeth and wrote down our address onto the electronic form she wanted me to sign. "You know, we have more shoppin' to do. Could you pack all of this up and have it shipped to us?"

"Of course, Mrs….Phillips. I'll have it packed up right away." I could tell that she didn't believe my last name.

I just smiled pleasantly at her as she busied herself with that. I leaned up on my tiptoes to whisper back to him, "Get your own damn chowder."


	18. 18 June 2012, 1230 Hours: Manhattan Gym

**18 June 2012  
** **1230 hours  
** **Old Manhattan Gym**

* * *

Steve sat back after a workout and ran a sweat rag over his face. He hadn't felt as though he'd exerted himself much, but unless he was fighting aliens or Thor, he never felt that way. He looked around the empty gym, glad that he'd paid the man who owned it enough money that he could have it to himself.

It was dark and dingy and reminded him of the 1940's. He could picture men with similar haircuts shooting the breeze around the boxing ring while others with wrapped hands battled it out inside. Around the punching bags stood men with cigars, grinning as they trained.

But those were just thoughts. There was no one else in the musty old gym. Just him and his thoughts and a folder.

The folder sat next to him ominously. Plain and manila, the only word on it read **PHILLIPS** in bold on the top right corner. It also said classified in big red letters across the front, but that was neither here nor there. Tony had gotten it for him without batting an eye, not that the man of iron had been around for a while. The man was hiding out in Florida somewhere in one of his dozens of properties.

Now Steve wondered if it was right to know about her. More than she told him, anyway. She knew more about him than he probably knew about himself, so why couldn't he read up on her? He wasn't sure if he trusted her and he needed to, if they were going to work together.

He finally gave in and gently opened the file, so as not to make it appear like it had been tampered with in any way. Instead of finding just information on her, though, he found information on most of the Phillips clan.

Her picture was obviously her when she received the promotion to "Captain." There wasn't an updated one just yet. She was born in 1986, meaning that she was just a year younger than him (technically). Her address had been updated to Stark Tower and her status was set to _ACTIVE – CONSULTANT, FOUNDING MEMBER._

 _Ah, that's right. Colonel Phillips founded SHIELD. His family must carry on that legacy._ He wondered if that got her special treatment. Had she always been in with SHIELD? _No. Couldn't be. She was too surprised before at the Hub._

She was a US citizen, which was obvious. Caucasian. Blonde hair, brown eyes, freckles. Five foot eleven, two-hundred and ten was extremely muscular for a woman. He found it interesting that she was born in Alabama, although that wasn't too surprising having heard her thick drawl. Under the Identifiable Markings section, there was a note about her amputation and a few words about shrapnel scars all along her torso. He didn't linger when there were pictures detailing everything.

Her family file was the longest. She had five older brothers, it seemed, and the deceased Colonel Phillips had had multiple sons, so she had plenty of uncles and cousins (all male.)

 ** _Colonel Chester Phillips (deceased):_** _sons - Andrew Carter Phillips: DECEASED, Ronald William Phillips, and—_

Joan's father, he noticed, was named after Steve's old C.O.

 ** _General Chester Samuel Phillips Junior:_** _born January 10, 1960, ACTIVE – CONSULTANT, FOUNDING MEMBER. Spouse: Marie Clarisse Kennedy_ nee _Boone, born February 10, 1965 – CIVILIAN._

 _Children:_

 ** _Ashton Phillips:_** _born 1975, CIVILIAN, FOUNDING MEMBER. Finance Consultant at JP Morgan & Chase. Spouse: Annette Wilkholm_, ACTIVE – LAB TECHNICIAN _. Child(ren): Joseph, born 2001. Kyle, born 1996._

 ** _Riley Phillips (deceased):_** _April 25, 1981 – November 18 2009. POSSIBLE RECRUIT, FOUNDING MEMBER. Special Forces._

 ** _Kenton Phillips:_** _born April 12, 1983, ACTIVE – CONTRACTOR, FOUNDING MEMBER. Pentagon civilian profiler._

 ** _Boone Phillips:_** _born July 13, 1984, CIVILIAN – FOUNDING MEMBER._ There was a post-it note scribbled on this man's file. _"No, we can't get his autograph!"_ In his picture, the blond was holding up a microphone on a stage in front of what looked like thousands of fans.

 ** _Parker Phillips:_** _born October 02, 1985, POSSIBLE RECRUIT – FOUNDING MEMBER. Doctorate in engineering from MIT and Purdue University. Biomedical Engineer at AIM._

Once he'd sifted through what seemed like a very large Catholic family, Steve found the woman's education. _Ashley Hall, Charleston, SC 2000 -2004: Valedictorian. West Point Military Academy, West Point, NY: Bachelor of Arts in Public Relations and Advertising (with honors)._

After that, there was a lengthy list of all the awards and medals she had been granted over the years. Then there were all the places she'd been stationed—everywhere from California to Afghanistan. He'd been doing his research on the battles of the twenty-first century and was shocked at all of the different places Americans were fighting.

Steve was extremely interested to see her mission qualifications. He knew she was smart, that was obvious, but if he had to fight with her, he wanted to make sure she could protect herself. _Weapons specialist: trained in all manner of long- and short-range weaponry. As an officer for the United States Military, Joan Phillips is trained in hand-to-hand combat, strategic planning and defense, ect._ _ **Human.**_

He hadn't been sure what he'd been looking for, but it wasn't what was in the files. He wanted to know about her morals, her views and opinions. Not cold hard facts about her life. He felt as though he could get those anytime by talking to her rather icy exterior.

The "human" notation at the bottom seemed to make him feel better, though. It was nice to have someone normal around for once. Her only special skills seemed to be with hyping other people up and guns. Where was the passion, the fire? What made her tick?

"So _this_ is where I find you." _Speak of the devil._

He quickly threw her file in his stinky gym bag, knowing she wouldn't dare look through that to find anything. He was pretty sure that he looked like a kid with his hand stuck in the cookie jar. Or even with crumbs all over his face. "You found me." He felt himself frown at that notion. Not even his gym was sacred.

They hadn't talked since she'd left in a huff from the clothing store. She'd gotten him a few gigs and even set up some interviews, so she was doing her job. But she had stayed away. He actually felt kind of bad about it. Still, he didn't know who she was. Sure, she was Colonel Phillips's granddaughter, but that didn't mean anything.

"It's my job," she said weakly, staring at him curiously. She was wearing nice clothes again—a black pencil skirt and a dark green button-up. Plain, but nice. She looked out of place in the old gym. "Come on, you're going to be late rebuilding an elementary school. I've got a change of clothes for you in the car."

 _I'm going to have to find out the hard way who she really is,_ he thought as he picked up his gym bag to head out with her. He shut the lights off and locked the door as it was his private gym, technically. Natasha had helped him rent it from the kind old man who owned it.

A nice red truck sat on the curb outside. It appeared older than what was usually on the street. The decal on the side said _Dodge Ram 2500._ As he got in, he saw a set of dog tags hanging from the rearview mirror. A (dirty) Braves cap sat on the dash and it looked like there were some boots in the back seat. Too big for Joan's feet.

Joan hopped in and looked a little tense when she saw him glancing around. "Don't touch anythin'." Noticing her tone, she added a "please" very softly to the end.

Steve watched her as she fiddled with the dog tags for a moment and took a deep breath. "Okay."

"Sorry, I…no one usually rides with me." She looked uncomfortable but didn't elaborate. He didn't ask more, just sat and waited. Joan wasn't the kind of woman to talk about her feelings. _That must be a first._ She had a good heart, like her grandfather, but Steve was starting to think that there wasn't a lot to her. She wasn't necessarily boring, but her life seemed to only consist of work. _Maybe there isn't anything that makes her tick._

The dog tags flashed and he noticed that they didn't say her name. He wanted to grab them and look but she had specifically asked him not to touch them. It clicked suddenly. His brain flashed back to the smiling picture in her family files of a man with messy brown hair and crinkling brown eyes.

 _Riley Phillips_ _ **(deceased)**_ _: April 25, 1981 – November 18 2009. POSSIBLE RECRUIT, FOUNDING MEMBER. Special Forces._

"Do you mind telling me what happened?" he asked softly. From what he understood, advanced military forces like the Special Forces and Navy Seals were good at what they did. They got in, they got out, usually without anyone knowing what happened. Kind of like his old team, actually.

"I would if I knew anythin'," she practically whispered. It was hard to hear her over the roar of the truck and Manhattan traffic. "They told me it was a _trainin' accident._ " Her accent became stronger the angrier she got. "His file was blacked out faster than a jackrabbit on a Tuesday." He wasn't sure about the saying but he nodded in sympathy. "He and his best friend were sent out. They don't tell you where, ever. Special Forces think they're all that. He would always give me an envelope before he left for missions, sayin', _'If I don't make it back, read this.'_ I'd punch him in the arm and I'd tell him that if he didn't come back, I'd resurrect him to kill him again. He'd been deployed dozens of times for short missions, this one shouldn't have been different."

Steve could see the emotion building up in her. While she didn't wear her heart on her sleeve, it was there. There was a warm, beating heart inside that seemingly-icy exterior. "It was." He didn't phrase it as a question.

Joan took a deep breath and gripped the steering wheel tighter. "Sorry. It's almost been _three_ years, you'd think I could think of him without getting emotional. I drive his truck, for heaven's sake."

 _But you haven't changed a thing._ She probably knew the exact amount of change in the ash tray. There was some kind of small can rolling around on the ground beneath his feet. He'd bet all fifteen dollars left in his wallet that it wasn't hers. "It's fine."

They didn't talk the rest of the ride to the elementary school.

Steve wasn't any better. He still had his timepiece with the picture of Peggy inside. He'd printed out a new one to go in it as his old one had washed away in the ocean, but still. He wasn't sure if she was alive or dead but he didn't want to look it up on the—with Google. He felt better in limbo than anything else.

He was just as bad as Joan was at letting go.

* * *

 **And Mama asked me this morning if I went by your grave,**

 **But that flag and stone ain't where I feel you anyway.**

I Drive Your Truck - Lee Brice


	19. 28 June 2012, 2100 Hours, Stark Tower

**28 June 2012  
** **2100 hours  
** **Stark Tower** **  
**

"Miss Joan, you have been asked to join a small meeting on the fifth floor."

I looked up out of habit when I heard Jarvis's voice. Then I looked back down to the mountain of paperwork I was writing to get Bruce Banner out of paying millions of dollars in fines for repairs to the city. "Do they need me right now? I'm a little busy."

"Sir has said, and I quote, 'If she doesn't get down here I will send Legolas to steal her leg and beat her with it.'"

I would have been insulted if I wasn't confused and chuckling at the crudeness of it. "Sounds serious. I'll be down in a minute." I tried to place the Legolas comment and realized that the old man was talking about Barton. "Tell him to hold off the elf princes."

I put the paper away in a semblance that I'd be able to decode it when I came back later. I was swamped with work. While it didn't seem like I was doing much to Steve or Tony, I was holding off all of the bad press, law suits, and stalkers that I could. Eventually I would be able to do more for them physically (by booking them more events and being there physically) but I had to get all of their bad press out of the way first.

Apparently my job description included meeting my charges and getting to know them. I sighed as I took the elevator down, letting Jarvis fill in the details on where exactly I was supposed to be going. The doors opened to a curious scene.

"Well then, let us meet this warrior woman!" I walked in on what seemed to be a small party, _not_ a meeting. Tony was up at the bar with an attractive black man; he looked familiar but I couldn't place it. Pepper and Dr. Banner were in the corner talking strategy, from the looks of it. Steve was sitting on a couch with a shorter man and a tall, dangerously-pretty woman.

 _Why is Tony here?_ I wondered, watching him for symptoms of anything. According to Fury ( _I am NOT Fury's lapdog_ ) the man of iron had been drunk and was holding up in Malibu creating dozens of new Iron Man suits. He seemed to be plagued since the Battle of New York.

 _Aren't we all. I'll have to let Fury know that he's here._

The man who had wanted to meet the "warrior woman" was big. And I meant bigger than _Steve_ big. Just as muscular, just as beautiful, although I could do without the shoulder-length hair. A perfectly-straight white toothed smile turned towards me as I approached and his ice blue eyes were full of mirth. "You must be Thor."

"Lady Joan, it is a pleasure to have you as part of our team!"

I was pulled into a rather forceful hug. _Panic._ I squeezed out and managed to grab his arm, twist it around his back, and push him forward. I tried to drag him to the ground but he weighed too much. My mind, having quickly turned to panic mode, shut back down and I backed away quickly. I cleared my throat at the awkward silence in the room. "Sorry. I don't, ah…I don't like to be touched."

It was quiet as all eyes turned to me. I was used to it, so it didn't make me all that uncomfortable.

Thor looked around and _laughed_. I let out a breath of air that I hadn't realized I'd been holding. "I like this one! Welcome, Lady Captain, you make a good addition to our team." Rather than try to hug me again, he held out his arm to me.

I grasped his forearm without hesitation, as it was on my terms and not on his. "Thank you. What are you doing back on Earth?" I still wasn't sure how I felt about the whole 'Nine Realms' thing. I'd been given access to _most_ of the information on the Avengers but it was a lot to take in and I hadn't been working with them a long time. There wasn't time for sleep or anything with all the work I had to do. _I'll have to let Fury know about this, too. Where's his girlfriend?_

"Just visiting. To inform the rest of Earth's Mightiest Heroes of my brother's incarceration."

"Here here!" The room raised their glasses.

I raised an eyebrow. "Good reason to celebrate. Jarvis let me know that I was missing out on a meeting. I was threatened to be beaten with my own prosthetic."

Steve, a few paces away, looked horrified. The short man ( _Hawkeye, probably_ ) was stifling a laugh and I couldn't read the woman. Tony was the one who replied. "You're here, aren't you?" He looked a little worse for wear. Deep black bags under his eyes and I could almost smell the alcohol on his breath from where I was standing. "Come over here," Tony said, waving me over to the bar with a handle of some expensive-looking whiskey. "Grab a drink, meet my friend here. He's single."

The man elbowed Tony in the stomach. Their little banter allowed me to calm my emotions for a second and swallow the want. "I don't drink. Thanks, though." I wondered if I'd be able to stand being around all of them. I usually removed myself from areas that alcohol inhabited. And that entire room was filled with it. _Is this floor just one giant bar?_ Everyone had a beer or something stronger in their hands.

"Everyone drinks," Tony said with a frown. Looking at Tony physically hurt. It brought back bad memories of sand and explosions and pain. So I looked away.

His friend must have seen the demons in my eyes because he made Tony stop for the time being. "Leave her alone, Tony." There were two things in the room that were bad for me. Alcohol and a cute black military guy. I clenched my dogtags (and the ring there) and cleared my throat. _Let's not go down that road._

Sensing the tension in the room, the short man next to Steve beckoned me over. "Ahoy, Phillips. Hop a squat and stop working. Cap here says that you haven't had your nose out of our files for days."

"Mostly Steve's," I acquiesced as I sat down across from the beautiful woman in my own chair. I didn't like proximity…or sharing. "I've been busy. Trying to make you guys look good. Clint and Natasha, right?"

They nodded.

Natasha hadn't taken her eyes off of me since I'd walked into the room. It put me on edge but I gave the spy/assassin her room. She was called "The Black Widow" for a reason. Her pretty red hair was loose around her shoulders and she was wearing a casual pair of jeans and a flowy t-shirt. I let her size me up.

"So," Clint said, also intent on sizing me up. I looked over to him, also in casual jeans and a t-shirt, and raised an eyebrow. "I read up on you. There's a nice file on you and your family."

"Ah," I replied. A bitter taste filled my mouth and I longed for a sip of the beer he was gesturing with. "You mean the one file I _didn't_ get."

Steve raised his beer, another distraction. "To always keeping secrets." He looked a little nervous. _I bet you've read my file too, Steve. And you probably can't lie worth a damn._

"Hey, secrets have their place," Natasha said, as if this was a recurring debate.

"Not when I'm trying to save the world," Steve replied back, almost in a sing-song voice. He definitely wasn't drunk. I wasn't even sure if he could _get_ drunk. I didn't understand a lot of the mumbo jumbo in his medical file, but the faster metabolism was a symbol of needing to eat more and not being able to feel alcohol's effects.

" _Anyway._ " Clint, AKA Hawkeye, cleared his throat and gave a glare to Natasha and Steve. "I was saying…your family. So, is it true that Boone Phillips is your brother? Like, that wasn't just a fake fun fact put in there to throw us off?"

I stared at the man a little longer. He was attractive in a short, muscled way. He had a little scruff and his hair was a little spiked, like it was the 90's or something. And he was a fan of my big brother's music apparently. "Huh. Wouldn't have taken you for a country fan."

"So he is! You ever get to, you know, go backstage? Do you help him with his music?"

It was actually kind of cute watching a grown man fangirl over my brother. I'd seen it plenty of times with the men I'd served with. My favorite part had been watching them grovel when my brother had done tours overseas and he'd visited our posts. Everyone wanted to meet Boon Phillips. _And sometimes they step on me to do it._

"Yeah, actually," I said with a small laugh, finally relaxing into my chair. Hawkeye, at least, would be someone to talk to. And Steve was warming up to me. "I've written a few of his songs, too. 'The Dance' was mine. And any of the love songs? Definitely my influence. That guy only writes frat-boy drinking and patriotic songs."

The slightly tipsy short man held his glass up and sang, slightly off key, " _Hey, Uncle Sam put your name at the top of his list, and the statue of liberty started shaking her fist!_ "

I laughed and sang along with him. " _And the eagle will fly, and it's gonna be hell when you hear mother freedom start ringing her bell! And it'll feel like the whole wide world is raining down on you…brought to you courtesy of the red, white, and blue!_ "

That was one of my favorite songs of my brother's. He wasn't an amazing writer or composer but he knew how to get a crowd riled up. _He sure did rile mom and dad up when he dropped out of high school and tailed it to Nashville to start a country music career._

"Love that song," the man next to Tony at the counter said. I learned later that he was Colonel Rhodes. I'd thought he'd looked familiar and that was because he was—we'd worked together on multiple cases before as PAO's.

I found myself talking to him for a while as our small party dwindled down. Thor disappeared, as did Pepper and Natasha, the latter of whom seemed to be giving me the cold shoulder. It was okay, I got along better with guys than women anyway. Steve and Clint were on the couch talking about some movie trivia and I'd just been left by Rhodes to fend for myself with Tony.

He looked at me for a long time, his mind seeming to go a million miles a minute. _Panic._ "I've seen you before," he said softly, staring at me intently. The sudden change in topic made my mind race. "Like, obviously I've read your file and made sure you weren't going to murder us all in our sleep. But I know I saw you before that." My heart hammered against my chest and I glared at him a little. "You aren't one of my one-night-stands."

"Which you've had plenty of, I'm sure." I faked a yawn and tried to dismiss myself but he stepped in my way. "I'm tired, I should probably—"

"Stark-Fujikawa," he said with a snap to his fingers. I shook my head and tried to step around him. "AccuTech?"

"No, sir, neither of those."

"Joan—can I call you Joan?—we've met before and if you don't tell me, I'll have to dig up some information on you. Well, more information than what SHIELD has on you. Which isn't much unsurprisingly—I've hacked them and I know it's all they have. You'd think for a division all about information that they'd know more."

"I'm surprised you haven't looked into me more, in all honesty. A random stranger, movin' into the Avengers complex...that's not an everyday occurrence."

"Well, Pepper made me." He tapped his foot irritably and narrowed his eyes, almost as if squinting would bring back his memory. "Angora?"

"I really, really don't want to have this conversation with you, Tony." The alcohol on his breath made me nauseous. I vaguely saw Clint and Steve out of the corner of my eye looking concerned but tunnel vision started in and Tony was blocking my way out. "Get out of my way."

"Where do I know you, Joan of Arc? Come on, I'll let you leave as soon as you tell me."

"I said _no._ "

"If you're gonna live here, you're gonna answer to me. Now answer me, soldier!"

"Kunar Province! Afghanistan!"

His face paled. _Panic. Explosions. Pain._ I was clutching my leg as he stuttered, "You…no one survived. I was told that no one survived."

I pushed out of his way. Someone put a hand on my arm, I tried to fight it. _Panic._ He was stronger than I was. He pulled my back to his chest, his arms around mine as I struggled against him. My breathing was ragged. I couldn't see anything.

And then I was in my room, lying on my bed. A pain wracked the place where my leg once was. I sat up and clawed at my prosthetic, ripping it off as I groaned and massaged the limb. There wasn't anything to do for it. Just nerves firing off. I'd taken Neurotin for a while, but once I'd hit my alcohol problem it really messed me up.

Steve was standing there, in my doorway. I looked up at him. There was a mirror there. I looked tired and ruffled. He stared me down as I pulled my comforter up over my aching limb. "What?" I asked harshly, looking away from both my reflection and him.

"You saved Tony's life."

I cried out as a particularly cutting pain kept me from replying.

He came closer. "What can I—"

" _Don't—_ " But he was already there, pulling the comforter away. I looked up to the ceiling in shame as he knelt and placed his hands on my stump, pressing his thumbs to it in a way that made me groan in pain and pleasure. "Please, don't…"

He hesitated for a moment before using the heel of his palms to dig into the pain. I never felt so embarrassed in my life. "You saved him, Joan. You sacrificed yourself."

I couldn't say anything. I stared at the ceiling and bit my lip as tears formed at the corner of my eyes. But there wasn't panic, just…

"You throw yourself on top of cadets, you throw civilians out of the way of land mines…I've been bad to you. I'm sorry. Just let me help. I've done this before. Teammates who've lost limbs. Phantom pain, right?"

I blinked back the mortification and looked down at him. He was looking at my leg, molding it, kneeling in front of me and taking care of me. I leaned my forehead down onto his and took a few deep breaths. "I don't…I don't let people touch me."

He seemed surprised but happy that I was relaxing. "I'm sorry if I'm making you uncomfortable, but you're in pain."

I pulled back and somehow managed to look into his beautiful blue eyes. He wasn't watching as he massaged my pained limb but it still felt amazing. "If I didn't want you touching me, you would be on the other side of the room, super serum or not. I've dealt with this for a while. By myself."

"You aren't by yourself anymore. You don't have to stay cooped up here working your life away. We're your people. You market us, so get to know us. You're a good person, Joan, and we want to socialize with you. If it's the alcohol—"

"It's fine."

"Joan—"

"I said it's _fine!_ End it!" I pulled away, finished with our heart-to-heart. "You can leave, now, it feels better. Thanks." I got back under the comforter again and couldn't bring myself to look at him.

He stayed kneeling beside the bed, staring at me. Hard. "Tony is in shock now, but he's going to want to repay you in some way."

"I was just doing my job—"

"I know, Joan!" Steve's outburst made me shut my mouth for a moment. He threw his arms in the air and then ran a hand through his hair, which was getting a little shaggy. He looked frustrated. "Stop trying to defend yourself to me."

"Well, you attacked me there for a little while, Captain. And you mistrusted me so much that you had to ask Tony for my file." I regretted it as soon as I said it. He looked guilty, but he shouldn't have been the guilty one. I was the one with an ulterior motive and he was just making sure that I was trustworthy. _Well, I mostly am._ "I've tried to get to know you and your response was to badger me with insults. So, yes, I stuck myself in my room to try and save all of you from law suits and crazies. Excuse me for doing my job and trying not to get attached."

He clenched his jaw and his fists and leaned back up against the door frame to my room. "Tony left for Malibu again."

I was thankful for the change in topic. "The press wants to know why he's down there and not up here with the Avengers. Pepper's doing fine with Stark Industries. She doesn't need him down there."

"I think he's troubled…you know, we have it, too." I blinked in surprise that he was mentioning our shared PTSD. "That's why I brought you up here. Clint and Tony didn't need to…I mean, we're working so close together…"

"It's fine." My words didn't sound as guarded as I felt. Actually, I felt tired. I leaned back against my headboard and closed my eyes. "It…it happens."

"Yeah."

"Thank you."

He paused a bit. I peeked open my eyes to see that he was smiling in my direction. "Sure."

* * *

 **Song: Courtesy of the Red White and Blue by Toby Keith**

 **Thanks to all the reviewers/followers/favorites! I really appreciate everything, even if it's just a "love it" or "good job"! Special shoutout to missfites for sticking with me through a few stories! Seriously the best. Also whoever Jo is, love it that you're a guest and still want to review. Makes my day!**


	20. 01 July 2012, 1200 Hours: Stark Tower

**1 July 2012** **  
** **1200 Hours  
Stark Tower**

It wasn't very often that I got to pull out all the stops in my job. Yes, I set up photo shoots and accompanied the Avengers to press events, but this was different. This was preparing a Fourth of July celebration to end all celebrations. Not only did I get to do it for Stark in general, but I got to do it for Captain America's birthday. It was going to be spectacular—amazing!

Well, it would be if I could get half of the caterers, performers, and media consultants to take me seriously. "No, I—look, I've been working for Stark Industries for a while now, and—"

 _"Miss Phillips, I'm sorry, but we're already booked for the Fourth of July. We've been booked for months!"_

I hung up, thinking that I needed some kind of assistant to do all of this for me. _I'm doing the job of an entire PR/party planner firm._ It wouldn't have been as bad if I was just doing Steve's PR, but Somehow I'd been roped in to _all_ of their business.

The next place was no different.

 _"Yeah, nice try. Tina Allen is the planner of Stark's parties."_

"Fine, fine, I get it. I'll get someone else. But just so you know, Mr. Stark won't hire you for anything else—"

They hung up on me so I gripped my phone with the intent to throw it. I stopped when I saw Steve standing in the doorway. I _was_ in the public area of our floor, technically. I blushed and sat the phone down, irately running a hand through my hair. "Hey, Steve."

"Having some trouble?"

"Yeah. It used to be, I'd say my rank and what I needed and I got it. Now everyone laughs in my face when I tell them I'm in charge of PR for Stark. Normally they'd bow down at my feet, but since I can't get ahold of Pepper or Tony, they think I'm a little liar." I couldn't look him in the eye. Not since I'd felt his delicious hands on my leg. Since I'd felt less repulsion and more embarrassment over the fact that he was the only person besides my physical therapist who'd placed his hands there.

"At least it's something to do." He looked agitated. I recognized that look.

"Ah…still grounded?" I already knew the answer to that but I wanted to hear him say it.

"Yep."

I kept in contact with his psychiatrist and Fury. While neither of them said much, I knew that it would be soon that he'd be put back into the field. They had him talking to more psychiatrists so that they could clear him for action. "Don't worry, you'll get out there again soon. In fact, I can go try to pull some strings. What's the point of Captain America being back if he doesn't do what he does best?"

His eyes brightened. "You're pulling my leg."

"No, I promise. I'll call up to headquarters and see what I can do." There was a weight that seem to have lifted off his shoulders just then. "Just not before the Fourth. I need you here or all hell will break loose."

He looked at me seriously but I tried to avoid his gaze, instead looking through some information on a few other caterers I was looking at. "What for?"

I startled and finally met his eyes. He was looking at me curiously, like he was legitimately confused. "What do you mean, _what for_? The Fourth of July, your birthday…?"

"Oh, yeah. I admit, I'm interested in seeing how modern day America celebrates Independence Day." He seemed so nonchalant about it, like it didn't matter.

"What about your birthday?" My family loved birthdays. They loved celebrating the day of each other's birthdays. I knew everyone's birthdays and had perfect gifts for all of them. Parker got something Purdue-themed every year, Boone (whose birthday was in twelve days) had a signed record from George Strait, Ashton got bonds for his kids, and Kenton…well, Kenton hated birthdays, unlike the rest of our family.

Steve shrugged. "Didn't have enough money growing up. It's just another day for me."

I narrowed my eyes and suddenly got filled with determination. "We'll see about that."

"Please, don't go out of the way for me. Just celebrate America. I don't need it, I promise. And I don't do so well around fireworks."

"That's something we have in common." And with that realization, I figured out what I needed to do. "Wait, Steve, I just got a great idea. Don't you have homework or something?" I'd given him some pop culture homework—movies, music, books that he'd missed out on over the years. He groaned and walked away, towards the exit—most likely to go work out, not do his homework. "Excuse me…" My phone, which thankfully I hadn't thrown, told me I had forty-two emails. I ignored them and dialed. "Hey, Rhodey, it's me."

" _Joan! I haven't heard from you for a while. What did you say to Tony? He's gone off the grid!"_

I coughed awkwardly and started pacing. "He'll tell you when he's ready. Listen, I need to call in a few favors. Military favors. And you're one of the only PAO's that I know who's still in the business."

There was noise in the background, like jets and training was going on. He must've been at work. _"Yeah? Alright, lay it on me."_

"Fighter jets. Flares. The Navy band and the Army choir." My body was pacing so fast now, it was like I couldn't stop. I didn't want to stop. "Tony wants a Fourth of July? Well, what is the Fourth of July without the military? Would we have our freedom today without us…well, you?"

 _"That's brilliant, Joan. I know plenty of soldiers who would sell their moms to be a part of a Stark party. Let me get in contact with a few people. Okay if I give them your contact information?"_

"Please do. Thanks, Rhodey. This means a lot."

 _"Anything for you, Joan. Let me know if you need anything else."_

I smiled and felt heat rush to my cheeks. I knew he wasn't flirting but a small part of me kind of wished that he was. "Oh, I'll take you up on that offer. I gotta go. Talk to you later."

I hung up and clenched the phone to my chest. _Finally._ Why had that been so difficult? Why did it have to be so difficult to set up _one party_? Tony did it in seconds, normally! _Well I guess that's partially my fault. Nobody's heard or seen from Tony since our conversation._ Pepper had contacted me the day before, asking me to set something up last minute. It was a lot harder to do than it sounded.

I started writing down all of the different spectacles that would be watched at Stark Tower. Macy's already threw a big fireworks bash every year, so all of the guests would have a beautiful view from the top of Stark Tower. _Dancers. I'll still need dancers._ Tony would kill me if I didn't get him some girls to prance around in skimpy clothes. I'd make them tasteful, though.

 _Music._ I knew the perfect artist to help with that. "Hey, Boone. You busy?"

 _"Never for you, little sis._ " I could hear music in the background though, so I knew that he had probably been in rehearsal.

"I need a favor. And you owe me after I covered for you at Mom's birthday."

 _"No need for blackmail. I was just gonna say yes outta the bottom of my heart."_ His southern twang made me miss home for just a second.

"Good. That means I can use it another time when you _don't_ want to help."

 _"On second thought…"_

"No take-backs! Now listen. This is gonna be big and difficult. You know I'm workin' for Stark Industries now, right?"

 _"Uh-huh."_ He sounded distracted.

"Boone, you really need to listen to me now. I'm counting on you." When he seemed to be really listening, I continued, hoping that he'd be able to help. "I know you have a lot of contacts in the music world."

 _"Is my baby sister finally hopin' to book me?!"_ he asked in mock belief.

I scoffed and pulled the phone from my ear as he shouted to his bandmates about it. "Hush, Boone! This is for Stark."

 _"Oh."_

"Don't sound all depressed. This is for Stark's annual big Fourth of July bash. Thousands of people will be here. Big celebrities, billionaires, I mean, Stark'll be here so that's someone you've always wanted to meet."

The silence on the other line scared me.

"Boone?"

 _"Babydoll, you know I'd do anything for you…"_ My heart dropped at the old nickname my brother always used on me—it meant something bad, usually. _"But the Fourth? You know I'm a famous country singer, right? I can't just pop up to New York on a whim. I'm playing in Georgia on the Fourth."_

My heart sank down to my toes. "Bro, I need help. If not you, then someone you know! What about Gilbert? Or Luke Bryan! He wanted that date that one time, remember?"

 _"Don't remind me. You can't date until you're forty, remember?"_

"Boone…" I hadn't whined like that since I was eight.

 _"Fine. I'll get you someone, maybe even more than one. Alright?"_

"Thank you! I love you!"

 _"Love you too. Don't be a stranger. Come to one of my shows, you hear?"_

I thought on how much Hawkeye had wanted to meet my brother. Even Rhodey had sung along that day that I'd tried to forget. "Can I bring friends?" They'd never shut up about it and I'd have an in with the team.

 _"Anything for you, babydoll. Miss you to the stars."_

"And back." I hung up the phone and took a few breaths. My family meant everything to me. Losing Riley had been like an arrow through everyone's hearts. We were strong, though, and we had picked up the pieces. I still missed all of them dearly. Everyone was moving on with their lives. _What I wouldn't give to go back and be a kid again…have all of them home._

I shook my head and figured that I needed to get back to work. Three days wasn't enough time to throw a white-tie gala, especially since I was alone. Pepper had even told me that she wouldn't be much help with anything.

Planning was my strong suit. I could do it. A few more pieces and this would be the most spectacular Fourth of July that Stark Tower had ever seen.

A few more hours of work and I thought of something that made me sad but prideful at the same time. I hoped that I still had Colonel Lucas's number in my phone. I hadn't seen or heard from him since the attacks on West Point. I shot him a text instead of calling—he could have been in class, in a meeting.

 **Me: Hello, Colonel. It's Joan Phillips. I have a strange request, if you're up to the task.**

Surprisingly, he replied almost instantly.

 **Colonel Lucas: Shoot. Can't make promises.**

 **Me: I need a list of the dead from the alien attack on Manhattan and West Point. Military, police, firemen, civilian. I want to do a tribute for the Fourth of July.**

It took him a while to reply after that. I was surprised at how well he texted for an older person. _Mom still uses "b4" and "u."_

 **Colonel Lucas: Done. You'll have the list by tomorrow. Lucas out.**

I didn't have time to celebrate my victory on that. Jarvis said, "Joan, you have a package from Mr. Stark outside your suite. Please check to make sure it is up to your specifications."

"What?" I put down my phone and walked to the front of Steve's and my suite. "What would Tony have sent me?"

Steve was suddenly there, holding a very large box with a lot of bubble wrap around it. He looked soaked in sweat and his shirt stuck deliciously to his toned body. "What's this for?"

"Jarvis said it was from Tony." A part of me was dreading what was in the box. I tried to take it from Steve but he told me that it was gonna be too heavy for me. I scowled a little and let him lead me back into our shared living space. He sat it down on the coffee table and gestured to it. "I guess I should open it, then."

I couldn't tear my eyes away from Steve. Normally, I wasn't attracted to white guys. But if one of them had a good enough physique (and they were as sweet as Steve) then I was gung-ho. He was just an extremely beautiful man. Recently, I'd been watching him. His smile, his walk, the bashful way he looked at the world. Sometimes I found it hard to believe that he was Captain America. Where was the soldier behind that beautiful, shy guy?

I almost slapped myself to stop looking at Steve. I took out the pocket knife I always carried around with me and started cutting through the dozes of layers of bubble wrap that Tony put on it. That and duct tape. It was like opening a Christmas present form your crazy uncle who made it impossible to get it open.

I did, finally, though. And what was inside freaked me out. "He sent me a _leg_?!"

Steve pulled out the mechanical object for me and sat it down. It looked like one of Iron Man's legs without the armor, but much more feminine and streamline. The foot was small and somehow the same size as my remaining foot. You could see the whirring of the gears and lights moving through the electronics.

"Well," Steve said as he rubbed the back of his head. I was momentarily distracted by the way his bicep bulged and his shirt pulled up, showing his sculpted stomach and hip. "He _did_ have a part in you losing your leg. This is his twisted way of saying 'thank you' I think."

It was no secret how much Tony and Steve disliked each other. Steve was all about doing things by the book and helping those who needed it. Tony was about helping himself and doing things whatever way pleased him the most. "This is probably the strangest gift I've ever gotten."

Jarvis spoke up over our confusion. "Sir has requested that you try it on. It should be more comfortable than your other prosthetics and should adapt to your nervous system, allowing the leg to move like your real one"

Most prosthetics rubbed, chafed. They were too big or too small. The ones that did fit usually were a smidge too long and made my hips ache. I felt like an old woman most of the time. "I'll try it on, but tell him I'm not sure how I feel about it yet."

It was so heavy, I wasn't sure how I would be able to lift it. I felt a little self-conscious as I took my prosthetic off in front of Steve but he'd already seen and touched my stump so that was a null point. Thankful that I was wearing a skirt, I sat down on one of the expensive couches and puled the leg over to me. I wasn't sure how to attach it, but it seemed like it was going to enter into my skin somehow.

I pulled it on. Something stung as it sunk into my body. I hissed and Steve hovered like a concerned parent. "It's fine," I said as it tightened around the skin under my knee. "Jarvis did say that it would work with my nervous system. It's just…ow!"

"Never should have trusted Stark," Steve said as he bent down next to my leg. His thumbs massaged at the area where skin met metal. It was red and irritated and him touching it only made it worse. I grabbed his hand and pulled it away, squeezing it as something else dug into the base of my missing leg. "Joan, talk to me!"

There was a grit in his eyes. A steel that I had never seen before. It made me lose my breath before one more burning sensation flew up my body, making my ears ring and my vision blur.

"It'll be fine!" I said through clenched teeth. I forced myself to smile up to him. "The man's a genius. It'll work fine if we let it. A little pain never killed me."

Still holding my hand, he looked me in the eye as his thumb rubbed against the chapped skin of my knuckles. I realized how intimate this was—a breath apart, holding hands, looking into each other's eyes…

I pulled away when the leg suddenly seemed to boot up, like a computer. There wasn't any pain and it seemed lighter than before. I lifted it and felt my ankle (the prosthetic's ankle) move like my real ankle would. "Fuckin' genius."

Steve flinched and I didn't even have time to process my language before I was standing up and walking around the room. It felt almost like I had my old leg back. The only thing that pulled me from that fantasy was the feel of metal against my real leg when the two passed each other. And the noise the thing made, like a tiny computer fan was constantly running. And the slight pinch, but nothing too painful. Nothing worse than regular prosthetics.

"Jarvis," I said with a breathless voice, "Tell Tony that, besides it being a little noisy, it feels like it's really a part of me. It moves seamlessly. Tell him…thank you. Although I won't be able to wear this in the real world, it makes life much more comfortable. I'll keep doing tests on it, if he wants to tinker with it."

"Sir says that it pleases him that you like it. He'll work on making it less conspicuous. He wanted to make sure that the technology was sound. Doctor Banner helped him, actually. Since Sir doesn't much care for biology."

I felt myself tearing up at the thoughtfulness of this gift. The fact that Banner had helped…it just made it all the more special. "Tell them both, I thank them."

Steve looked at me pensively. I raised an eyebrow at him and then modeled the leg. "I mean, it's not the most fashionable thing I've ever seen, but…"

"No, I think it's great," Steve said off-handedly. "I just…Stark and I—"

"Oh, I know," I said as my phone started ringing. "Stark and _I_ go a ways back too, Steve. This is just his way of wanting to make up for it." I answered the phone without looking. "Hello?"

Steve shook his head and started to walk away as I listened to the head of the Navy band go on and on about how excited he was to have his people play at Stark's party. I was almost distracted enough not to notice Steve's mood, but I still felt bad.

I'd just have to make it up to him for his birthday.


	21. 04 July: Stark Tower Roof

**I don't know what to say other than...Civil War. Go and see it, multiple times, if possible. It gave me so many possibilities for part 3 of this story.**

* * *

 **4 July 2012  
** **0939 hours  
** **Stark Tower Roof** **  
**

Steve had never seen a chicken with its head cut off, but apparently Joan was acting like that in the morning before the Independence Day party. She was finalizing the details on everything, from the caterers, to the flight patterns of the fighter jets, to the key of each song that the bands and choirs were performing. She even insisted on surveying the troops that had come out to celebrate, making sure that their uniforms were correct.

Clint was standing next to Steve, watching it all happen. The shorter man whistled as he watched Joan and her new prosthetic run around frantically. "She's making _me_ tired." He sipped a beer and couldn't look away.

It was almost hypnotizing, actually. "I don't know how she does it. It's like she's commanding a battalion of soldiers."

"But instead of guns, they have pie and musical instruments." Barton tried to take a piece out a rather delicious-looking apple pie but suddenly Joan was standing there. "Oh, hey, Captain."

She looked nice, Steve had to admit. She was wearing a beautiful black dress that hugged her muscular body but made her appear more feminine than muscular. Three-quarter sleeves and a knee-length skirt made her appear very classy, as did the stunning pearl work on her jewelry. She was wearing Tony's prosthetic, which the billionaire had updated to cover the gears and wires. It was flesh-colored but obviously metal. On her feet were a pair of stylish black pumps.

She'd put her hair up, although it was falling down in curly tendrils in places. She'd have to fix it before the party that night, he mused. She had rather pretty makeup on. Normally she just wore mascara and lipstick. Now it was the whole shebang—her eyes were lined in a dark kohl, covered in a deep brown. Her cheeks were in a permanent blush. Steve was bummed that her freckles were completely covered, leaving her face a perfect tan but not normal.

All in all, she didn't look like her normal self.

"Hey, boys," she said with a stern, I-see-you-trying-to-sneak-pie face. "I need ya'll to clear out, alright? In fact, Steve, I wasn't gonna give you this until later, but…" She pulled a small package out of the bag she was carrying. It was wrapped in red white and blue paper with a small bow on top. "Happy birthday. Now get out."

Steve stared down at the small gift and then back up into the face of the woman he was slowly starting to understand. He hadn't gotten a gift in…well, a long time. He usually got socks or a quarter, at least he had when he was a kid. After he'd become Captain America, he'd gotten lots of gifts—from fans, from secret admirers, from people who wanted to use him, not know him.

But he hadn't gotten one from someone he considered a friend. The last time that had happened…was when Bucky had been around. "I, ah…thanks." He cleared his throat and took the gift from the expectant woman.

"You've got dozens more from your fans," she said with a small smile, brushing a curl behind her ear. That simple, feminine gesture made him question how he felt about her. "But I wanted to make sure you got a personalized one, first. Now get out of here, I'm workin' and you two are underfoot."

She ushered them into the elevator and before the boys knew it, they were in Steve's apartment. Steve looked down on the present—smaller than his hand—while Clint threw his beer bottle away. "I didn't expect her to get me anything."

"We're your friends, Steve. I got you something, too." He handed Steve a small gift bag. The Super Soldier looked like he was going to say something sappy, so Clint said, "No, no, you deserve it." He clapped Steve on the back. "Now, listen. I gotta go. But I'll see you and the rest of the team at the party tonight. Happy birthday, Rogers. I'll catch you later."

The archer got in the elevator and left the super soldier alone. Steve sat down and looked at his two presents, feeling a little emotional. Bucky had given him his last gift, the compass that he kept Peggy's picture in. Well, that he _had_ kept her picture in. He didn't feel right about it anymore.

His parents hadn't ever been able to afford much, so he hadn't ever thought much about birthdays. It was just the day you were born, not a special day to spend a lot of money and celebrate. Of course, his parents had always tried to make it special, but it wasn't always possible.

Steve grabbed the present from Clint, first. He slowly pulled out the tissue paper, folding it gently to use again later if he had to. Inside was a small pocket knife. It looked relatively familiar to the one that Joan carried—Barton must have heard him talking about how much he'd like one. It seemed very convenient to carry around all the time.

"Thanks, Barton," Steve said as he pocketed it, feeling glad that it was something that could be used and not just insanely expensive and useless. Then he grabbed Joan's gift. It was thin and shorter than his palm. He didn't just want to tear into it, so he carefully peeled back the tape and let whatever was inside just slide out.

 _The Mets vs. The Los Angeles Dodgers at Citi Field, 1:00pm on July 4th_

Steve stared, dumbfounded, at the tickets in his hands. He hadn't seen a baseball game since he'd been unfrozen, even though it had been one of his favorite pastimes. And now, somehow, Joan had gotten him tickets to see what used to have been his favorite team—back when the Los Angeles Dodgers had been the Brooklyn Dodgers.

Behind the tickets was a note. _Steve. I'm going to be busy most of the day, but I want you to know that my family is big on birthdays. I understand that you didn't really celebrate it but I_ _want_ _you to this year. You have done so much for this country, let it do something for you. At one, go to the game. Once that's over, you have a dinner boat tour of the harbor you can go to, or a walking tour of sites from the Revolutionary War. Either way, they'll be done right before the party here starts. You're welcome to stay indoors until the fireworks are over, but know that there will be other soldiers on the rooftop with us. We won't be alone on this day. We_ shouldn't _be alone on this day. –Joan_

Steve hadn't felt so…normal…in a while. Getting gifts from his friends, having plans…soon he'd be out in the field and it would almost be like he was back in the 1940's again. Back when he'd had a life. Back when he wasn't restless and itchy to hit everything in his path. He'd been snapping at others. He could barely sleep—he wasn't tired. He needed something to do before he lost it completely.

A baseball game was a good start, though.

 **1538 hours**

"Bro. You really pulled out all the stops." I was signing in Shania Twain, Toby Keith, and Lee Greenwood one right after the other. I tried to multitask by thanking my brother over my Bluetooth headset. "Seriously. I didn't think that I could pull this off."

 _"I know I'm awesome."_

"Don't push it. Oh, not you, Mr. Greenwood, you do whatever you'd like."

"I have to admit," the older man said as he shook my hand. I didn't fangirl often, but when I did, it was because Lee Greenwood was shaking my hand. "I wasn't expectin' to get a call from Boone about a party for Stark."

"He owed me a favor, but I never realized it'd be this big," I admitted, feeling myself blush for the first time in twenty years. "I'm a big fan, Mr. Greenwood. And your set will be the perfect tribute to America."

"Will Captain America be gettin' on stage with us?" My mind froze at his perfectly normal question.

 _How was it that I hadn't even thought of that?!_ He'd done plenty of shows back in his touring days, plus movies and the like. "I…well, it's his birthday. I'll leave it up to him."

"I look forward to meetin' him," the old singer said wistfully.

I showed him to his room and then leaned against the nearest wall, suddenly exhausted. Steve was probably just getting done with his baseball game and Widow was finishing a mission. Barton had made some excuse to not party with the rest of the team. Thor wasn't going to show up—he'd disappeared as soon as he'd seen his girlfriend for the night. Banner had come in the night before to check on my prosthetic but insisted on not staying.

 _"Explosions and lots of people make the big guy uneasy. It's best if I just head out to the middle of nowhere and wait it out."_

"Captain," a voice said, "we're down three Avengers. Do you still want to do the press event later tonight?"

I looked up at my assistant. SHIELD had assigned her to me so I didn't trust her fully yet. There were too many secrets in that organization that I wasn't privy to. "Sharon, I told you, call me Joan. There are too many captains around here to call it out willy-nilly."

She was a pretty thing. Around my age with soft blonde curls and a pretty facial structure. I wasn't sure if Sharon Carter was her real name or if she'd made it up, but it reminded me of the woman that Steve had looked up the day I'd taught him how to use a cell phone. "Yes ma'am. The press?"

"If Tony doesn't show up, or if he does show up and he's trashed, then cancel the meetin' with the press. The Avengers isn't the Avengers with only Cap, Widow, and an alcoholic Iron Man."

"Of course. I'll put that down as a 'maybe'. The caterer has finished setting up in Stark's kitchens. The dancers are asking for more room—"

"Tell them that when they change into tactical gear in back of a Humvee the middle of the Registan Desert, they can ask for a bigger room. Until then, they're fine. Anythin' else?" I was getting tired of micromanaging every little detail. _Isn't that what an assistant is for?_

"Lights are all set up. The drinks are all coming in. Did you want to approve the drink selection—"

"No!" I'd said that too loud but I just acted like it hadn't happened. "No. Whatever you pick should be fine. Or, you know, Stark has great taste in drinks. Talk to him about it. Yeah."

"Cap—Miss Phillips, are you alright?"

"I'm fine, Sharon. Don't you have a decorating committee to oversee or something?" I pinched the bridge of my nose and tried not to glare at the poor woman who'd been assigned to me. It wasn't her fault, anyway. It just miffed me slightly to know that SHIELD still didn't trust me. I knew that they weren't just giving me an assistant out of the kindness of their hearts.

She seemed to sense my unease and promptly clicked her heels and walked away with a stiff "Yes ma'am."

 _I hate women. It's not her fault. But I hate the people of my gender._ Her too-short little skirt made me jealous and her cute smile seemed to have caught Steve's attention earlier. _Not that I care who Steve looks at…he deserves to be happy. I'm just his manager. Nothing more._

I looked out in the direction of the baseball field and hoped that Steve was having a good time. "Maybe he took Clint." Probably not, though. Clint seemed to have something else to do that day. He didn't have a family (or so his dossier that I was given said) so maybe a girlfriend?

It wasn't my business. Well, it was, because a girlfriend would be torn apart in the press if they caught wind of it, but for personal issues it wasn't my business. _Maybe Natasha? If she got back from her mission in time, that is._

Toby Keith pulled me out of my daydream, asking about his part for the Wounded Warrior Project set. He thanked me profusely for my service and I just thanked him like I did everyone else. The man did great things for soldiers who came back with missing parts of themselves—mentally or physically. And the project was one of the big sets I had planned for the show that night.

"Thank you, Mr. Kieth."

"Toby."

"Right. Thank you, Toby, for doing this at the last minute. It really means a lot to my brother and me. And, you know, our country."

He looked at me a little harder. "Now that I hear it, I see some resemblance. I wondered why Boone offered me his hunting lodge in the fall. You're his sister!"

I rolled my eyes and led him to his dressing room. "You know what they say about music and showbiz—there's lots of room for nepotism."

He smirked at that and opened the door to one of the many rooms on Stark Tower's 48th floor, reserved for VIPs when large parties were thrown. "And at Stark, it seems like you get the pick of the tech." He gestured down to my prosthetic. "Where can I get some of those for my men?"

I glanced down at the leg, still unsure of how I felt about it. "Stark's only made one. I just got it yesterday and I'm still gettin' used to it. A prototype, if you will."

"Since he's stopped making weapons, it'd be good of him to get into biomed," Toby said as he went to grab the things he needed for soundcheck.

I wondered exactly what Stark did besides energy since they'd closed down their weapons sector. "I agree. Please let me know if you need anythin'. My assistant or I will take care of it as soon as possible."

 **2000 hours**

It was a white tie gala, apparently, and Joan had laid out a custom suit for him to wear. He felt a little affronted that she thought he couldn't pick out something nice but realized that it was literally her job to make him look good. He had to admit that he definitely looked good, too. He had never owned something so fancy and probably expensive.

The party was actually very tasteful. Steve had seen some of the parties that Tony had pulled in the past and was very happy at the way Joan had made it turn out. There were military personnel everywhere as well as modern celebrities and dignitaries. Everything was decorated in the exact shades of red white and blue that the flag hosted but it wasn't tacky. It was very formal and festive.

His stomach growled when he smelled something delicious. One of the staff was carrying around a tray with mini apple pastries on it. Another was carrying fancy mini hamburgers because, according to Hawkeye, "it wouldn't be the Fourth of July without a burger." Steve wondered what the Fourth had turn into in the seventy years he'd been gone.

"Hello, everyone," Joan's voice said through speakers set up around the entire rooftop, "and thank you all for comin'." Steve turned to see her standing at the podium on the large stage along the back of the building in a sleek black, curve-hugging dress, dolled up to the nines. Her mechanical leg peeked out from beneath her skirt but she wore it like a badge of honor. She explained who she was and what her job was to Stark Industries. She started a speech about Independence Day and what it really meant to the world.

"A little over two years ago," Joan said stoically, somber music filling the background, "I was stationed in Kunar Province, Afghanistan." Large images appeared behind her of the base where she'd been stationed. The images told her story as she spoke of it. The Naval band appeared behind her as well, the source of the music. "I was tasked with overseein' a VIP's safe arrival to our base after a weapons demonstration. We never made it. We were attacked by rebel forces. My team, my leg, and my will to live were lost."

Steve couldn't tear his eyes away from her. She was like a beacon of hope, even when talking about the atrocities she'd been put through. He could only begin to imagine how hard it was for her to share her story with all of these people.

"I'm not alone in my fight," she said loudly. Dozens of men and women in uniform joined her on stage as the music soared to a more progressive tune. "In the World Wars, for every soldier killed, one point seven were injured. In Operation Iraqi Freedom and Operation Enduring Freedom, for every US soldier killed, seven are wounded. In recent military conflict, over forty-eight-thousand men and women, my brothers and sisters, have been wounded.

"Then," she said softly as the men and women behind her stood at attention, "there are the invisible wounds of war that you don't see. These include depression, PTSD, combat-related stress. We don't know exact numbers for this invisible killer, but it is estimated to be upwards of four-hundred thousand service men and women.

"The Wounded Warrior Project helped me heal. It's a long journey, one that I'm not finished completing, but it helped me, just as it helped the men and women who stand behind me." Steve realized that the men and women behind Joan were also amputees. Some had scarring and traumatic head injuries. Some looked fine but he guessed that they had some of the "invisible wounds" Joan had talked about. "WWP takes a holistic approach to serve the warriors you see and also their families. The goal: to foster a well-adjusted generation of wounded service members who are successful, empowered, and engaged. We don't leave the wounded behind and that counts even after we've left the battlefield."

The pictures behind Joan had shifted from her time in Afghanistan to show the other men and women's strife. Steve had been caught up in the changes that war had gone through (and those it hadn't) when the music dipped low.

"Recently…" Joan's voice cracked as the pictures changed to the Battle of New York and the subsequent attack on West Point. "Recently the world was attacked by an unknown supernatural force that we weren't prepared for. Many brave men and women of all military branches, police, firemen, civilians, they all stepped up to save their fellow man. And we lost many of them." Names scrolled along the backdrop and along the edge of the building, constantly moving like a holographic monument to the attack. "We at Stark Industries are using today as a monument to those we lost today, yesterday, last month, and all through America's history in order to give us freedom. Please join me in honoring the men and women we have here in the flesh and also in spirit."

The noise that came out of the crowd was deafening. Joan left the stage as a musician appeared, singing, _"I'm an American soldier, an American! Beside my brothers and my sisters I will proudly take a stand. When liberty's in jeopardy I will always do what's right. I'm out here on the front lines so sleep in peace tonight. American soldier…I'm an American soldier."_

Fireworks started to go off but Steve couldn't hear the loud _booms_ that normally came with the territory. "Jarvis, what's going on with the sound?"

"Miss Phillips requested that a sound barrier be placed between the veterans and the fireworks. There are many here with mental handicaps and the noise from the fireworks would only make it worse."

That wasn't all for the night. There were more musical guests including the Army choir complete with jet fighters flying overhead. There were donation segments where the wealthiest of guests pledged money to the Wounded Warrior Project and other veteran-centered organizations. The military personnel there mingled with others. Steve was one of them.

Most of them didn't recognize him, of course. He wasn't in uniform and he looked a lot different from the promotional videos from the forty's. Only one person recognized him—it was a kid of one of the wounded soldiers. _The kids always recognize me._ Steve only smiled and held a finger to his lips, giving the kid a smile as he did so.

The kid nodded with enthusiasm and continued to stare until his mother pulled him into a large group of people.

Steve let out the breath of air he'd been holding and decided to call it a day. It'd been great—the game, the Revolutionary War tour, even the party which he'd been skeptical about at first. It had been a great day thanks to Joan who Steve hadn't seen since her opening speech.

"Captain Phillips is on your combined floor," Jarvis hinted helpfully in his ear. Steve still wasn't used to the artificial voice following him wherever he went.

The World War II veteran found himself leaving the party relatively early to find the safety of his room. The sound from outside was near impossible to hear in the elevator and was completely gone once he stepped inside the dimly-lit entrance hall to his and Joan's floor. He didn't need much light to see something that warmed his heart.

Joan was asleep on the couch. It looked as though she'd been trying to stay awake but had failed miserably. On the table in front of her was a small children's cake in the shape of his shield. The colors were wild and cartoon-ish but a candle on top was the number twenty-seven, signaling that the cake was for him.

Steve grabbed a blanket from one of the many pieces of furniture in their combined living space and draped it over her. She'd worked hard to make the Fourth special for not only him but all American veterans and military personnel. She deserved a good night's sleep…and he'd make sure to save her a piece of cake, too.


	22. 20 July 2012: The Captain Floor

**You guys are SERIOUSLY amazing. The feedback from the last chapter was spectacular! You and the new movie have made my thoughts finally flow from my fingertips. A few notes:**

 **I've been working on a "Black Panther" stand-alone. It could be a three-shot or it could evolve into more. Would any of you read a romance with the steamy T'Challa? I'd let you know when it's posted.**

 **This chapter starts what I deem as "Phase One." A lot of stuff is revealed and some may sound familiar. I've already pulled in some Agents of SHIELD stuff and I'm about to pull in some more.**

 **Please let me know what you think! I've got a basic outline of what's to happen in the next (many) chapters but I would love your input.**

 **-LCB**

* * *

 **20 July 2012  
** **0800 hours  
** **The Captain Floor**

"Hey, sis, nice digs. How much rent do you have to pay for this place?" Parker, the youngest of my older brothers, pushed his glasses up his nose and pushed his face against the glass like he wasn't twenty-eight years old and an adult. "I mean, this is prime. Seriously. Even AIM doesn't pay me enough for a place as nice as this."

I almost told him that it was free, but I wasn't about to answer questions about why or who I was sharing a floor with. "It's discounted. Workin' for Stark Industries has some great perks." My family didn't know exactly what my job entailed and I was completely fine with that. The last thing I needed to hear was "Captain America" this or "Thor" that or "you're following in your grandfather's footsteps".

Besides, I'd been left out of the loop for a very specific reason. If my other brothers and mother were left out of the loop…well, then, that wasn't my fault.

"Seems like it. Anyway, you wanna take a walk with me? I've got a proposition for you. I think you'll really enjoy it. Grab your computer."

I stared into Parker's brown eyes and frowned a little. He seemed jittery—nervous, maybe. "Fine. You're gettin' a haircut while you're in town, though."

He laughed and practically shoved me out the door after I grabbed my laptop bag. "Yeah, sure, whatever. Listen, I just wanna get out of earshot of Stark's surveillance because this thing I'm about to tell you, it's big. And you're definitely a candidate for our trials."

"Trials for what?" I asked as we walked down the streets of New York. It was a balmy day, not many people out besides the early-morning joggers. I was willing to bet that Parker hadn't even been to sleep yet. It was pretty normal for him to want to get together at five, six in the morning and I obliged. I hadn't been getting much sleep anyway.

There was a nice park not too far outside the Avengers Tower. It used to be a bank but they'd traded the space and paid for it to become a memorial park. In the middle was a beautiful fountain with the list of names of people that had been lost during the attack. It was remarkable how fast it had gone up.

Parker sat us down on a bench and handed me a flash drive shaped like Purdue Pete. I rolled my eyes at his school pride and popped it into my laptop. A program that I'd never heard of started running, checking my computer for bugs and surveillance equipment. When it seemed sure that my computer was clean it started showing me statistics and chemical formulas. It all went over my head.

"Bub, you know I don't understand this stuff. I'm not a brainiac, I studied public relations and advertisin' for cryin' out loud."

"Just put these headphones in and watch the video." He practically shoved the earbuds into my ear canals. He was looking around like a drug addict trying to hide his ticks from outsiders. Then, ignoring my protests, he pushed play on the video.

A woman was on camera. Behind it, a man spoke _. "What would you regard as the defining moment of your life?"_

The woman on camera cleared her throat. She was wearing a loose tanktop and PT shorts. One of her arms was missing and I felt a phantom pain in my missing leg. _"Well, uh...I think that'd be the day I decided not to let my injury beat me."_

The man behind the camera spoke again, a strange, disembodied voice. _"Will you please state your name for the camera?"_

 _"Ellen Brandt."_ I was surprised to recognize her name. With so few women as officers in the military, we had to stick together. She'd gone off the grid years before me.

 _"Okay. So, the injections are administered periodically. Addiction will not be tolerated and those who cannot regulate will be cut from the program."_ The scene switched to one of a man—presumably the one behind the camera—talking to a group of injured soldiers. Soldiers like me. _"Once misfits, cripples...you are the next iteration of human evolution._ "

I wanted to punch my brother for a moment but didn't have time because the scene switched again, showing a few people strapped to upright planks as they received some kind of injections.

 _"Hi, everybody. Before we start, I promise you, looking back at your life there will be nothing as bitter as the memory of that glorious risk that you prudently elected to forego. Today is your glory. Let's begin!"_

Something went wrong. They seemed to be rejecting the treatment, glowing red and heating up. But then something miraculous happened—their missing limbs started growing back. A million reactions ran through my head—hope, fear, betrayal, disgust, _hope_ , anger...

I slammed the computer shut and glared at my brother. Anger and betrayal were what I chose to go with. "How fucking _dare you_? Is this some kind of joke to you?"

Parker stood up and backed away a few paces, holding his hands in front of him as if they would protect his little nerd body. "No, Joan, I swear, this is legit! I worked on the formula myself, I've seen it in action!"

"This is some movie special effects crap, you little shit!" I stood up to advance on him but he just held out a card.

"If you don't believe me, contact my boss, Aldrich Killian. I've told him about you and he thinks that you'll be an amazing candidate. You have to be strong. You have to be stable. And no one's stronger than my little sister."

I could see the sincerity in his face. Still, something felt wrong. More wrong than my missing leg. "You can't just regrow _limbs_ , Parker." _Can you, though?_ My brain couldn't help but question my realistic views. The phantom pain in my lower right leg beat like a hopeful heartbeat.

"You don't have to believe me. Just...come by my office. Take a few days off and see what I mean. I promise, you won't regret it. I've seen such amazing things from this company and I just...I love you, sis. I know how much you went through a few years ago and, well...you deserve it. Okay? You're one of the good ones."

I'd never heard Parker talk so much about anything other than computers and biology before, so I was a little shocked. I slowly nodded and took the card from his hand. "I, uh..." At a loss for words, I cleared my throat. "Yeah, sure."

"Oh, and sis?" I looked up distractedly into my brother's dark eyes—my eyes. They were as serious as I'd ever seen them. "You can't tell anyone. At Stark, I mean. He's notorious for trying to take our ideas, you know."

I held back a snort of laughter only because I was still in shock. That and it was funny because, technically, AIM took everything from Stark. "They won't hear anythin' from me. How do I, ah, explain a new leg?"

"You don't. And when you talk to my employer, you don't tell him that I showed you this video. You just know about a rehabilitation program through AIM that I told you about, alright?"

I nodded.

 **1630 hours  
** **SHIELD Field Office** **  
**

The papers were definitely interesting that day. Nothing to be heard of Steve or any of the Avengers which meant I was doing my job, but still interesting. A man named Scott Lang had been arrested for breaking and entering into Vistacorp Headquarters to return millions of dollars to the company's customers. _Then_ the man broke into the CEO's mansion, stealing belongings and driving a very expensive car into a very expensive pool.

Nothing on the Mandarin, thank goodness. He'd been quiet for some time. The last bombing and the third one had happened in January. As far as I knew the man had gone underground.

Another article talked about AIM. Parker's boss's card burned a hole in my jean pocket and I wasn't sure that I'd completely analyzed everything we'd talked about that morning. My brain wanted to tell me that it was a dream—a Tylenol-PM-induced dream.

"Joan! What are you doing here?" Steve looked surprised to see me standing outside of his psychiatrist's door. It was late in the afternoon and the man in that office was the last one I needed to sign Steve's release papers.

I smiled at him and pushed up off of the wall I'd been leaning against. "I told you I'd try to get you back out in the field."

The smile that overtook Steve's face reminded me of a child's. It was light and carefree and I wanted to see it on his handsome face more. "You think it'll be soon?"

"I think that SHIELD needs you out in the field," I said, purposefully vague. Fury had told me of a few missions that Cap would be good on. Also the US government wanted him for something overseas. I hadn't had a high enough pay grade to know either of those, only that Steve was welcome to take on whatever he wanted as soon as the documents were signed.

A familiar voice made its way to my ears from behind Steve. "Everything alright, Rogers?"

"Yes sir," Steve said, stepping to the side to reveal the other man, "my SHIELD-designated PR specialist just wanted to speak with you." I didn't have time to grimace at the title Steve gave me because I was too surprised by his psychiatrist.

It shocked me that I knew who he was. There were other emotions too, like betrayal, anguish, and love, but the shock was there first. Andrew Garner looked…older. I hadn't seen him in years but his face still looked as I remembered it. A few more wrinkles, of course, but…

"Andrew," I breathed, staring at his dark skin and beautiful brown eyes that his brother had had, too. It made my heart ache. "I…I haven't seen you in a while." My eyes narrowed as I said, "Didn't know you worked with SHIELD."

"You've missed a lot," the psychiatrist said softly, staring at me with a mix of pity and sadness. "I'm just a consultant."

 _But you knew._ It seemed like everyone I loved knew about SHIELD and I'd just sat there like an ignorant child for twenty-some years of my life.

I couldn't tear my eyes away from him. I stared him over—he looked healthy, at least, and his clothes were nice. He'd always dressed nice, just like his brother. "How's Melinda? I haven't, I mean…"

Andrew ran a hand over his head and sighed. "We understood, Joan. We didn't expect you to heal for a while. Melinda and I…aren't together, anymore."

Feeling like a bitch, I winced and bit my tongue. "Oh, Andrew, I'm sorry."

"You two know each other?" Steve asked, breaking me out of the small world I'd found myself in.

Andrew looked to be ready to talk, so I held my hand up, warning him. "I wouldn't be able to say anything Joan." He glanced down at my dogtags which I quickly slid under my shirt. "You still have his ring."

"Well I don't deserve it."

"They're still looking."

"I buried him a long time ago."

We stared at each other until it was too difficult for me to look at him anymore. He sighed and held open his door for me. "I've got a free hour if you feel like you need to talk."

"I don't need you digging around in my head. I just wanted to talk to you about Steve."

Steve backed away like he didn't want in on our little spat. "I'm fine. I was just leaving."

"I'm just getting your release papers signed," I laughed, holding the tablet out to my almost-brother-in-law. "Stay right here and you can take them to Fury yourself." The look of satisfaction on Steve's face told me that he'd like that a lot.

I stared Andrew down and watched as he signed the tablet with his finger. No preamble, no hold out, just the good old Andrew I remembered. "We should get lunch sometime," he said before he let me take the tablet from him. "It'd be good to catch up. It's been, what, almost four years?"

Four years since I'd seen anyone from that family. Four years since I'd seen _him_. "I'm not sure if that's a great idea." He was a psychiatrist and he'd always been able to get into my brain without really trying. I hated it. "I know where to find you now, though." I turned, ready to leave, when a thought hit me. "Wait. Did Melinda know? About SHIELD?" _Did Leo?_

Andrew coughed and rubbed the back of his neck. "Well, you see…"

I threw my hands in the air and hated myself a little more than I had before I'd seen Andrew. Thinking back, I realized that that was how most psychiatrists made me feel all the time.


	23. 29 July 2012: War Room

**29 July 2012  
** **0920 hours  
** **Stark Tower SHIELD Room** **  
**

"This isn't to leave this room," the agent said to the team that was assembled. I remembered the agent to be Sitwell, the man who had given me the creeps when I'd been hired. He was apparently a pretty big head honcho in SHIELD. He wasn't happy that I was there. "It's level-seven classified."

The last part had been directed at me. "I've worked with Generals, the President, and at the Pentagon. I understand what classified means." I wasn't level-seven so I wasn't sure why I was there in the first place.

Sitwell frowned but told us to open our dossiers. It made me so happy that Steve was finally being asked to join in on a mission. I knew what it was like to be desked, to have all that energy inside until it felt like you were going to burst. It wasn't good for mental or physical health and getting back out there would help heal the man everyone knew as Captain America.

There were three men and a women in the room as well, agents who were supposed to be his teammates. I wasn't sure why I was there as Fury had literally forbade me from going on any missions and I wasn't exactly able to publicize whatever they were going to be doing. I hoped that those agents would have his back because I wouldn't be able to be there. Neither would the Avengers, should something happen.

"Russia," Sitwell said, pulling up images behind him as the team and I read through the documents. "A madman has been instigating war between the Russian government and Syria. He was last seen in Nizhny Novorod, holed up in the Sormovsky district where he's using the Volga Shipyard as a base of operations. Your mission is to get in and neutralize. If possible, take him alive. If not, it isn't a priority."

The file was entitled _Kraven the Hunter._ It detailed that he was six foot seven, weighing over three-hundred pounds. He was a weapons specialist but preferred to use his bare hands to tear his prey apart. He appeared to be wearing the furs of the animals he'd killed.

Sitwell started laying out maps for Steve to use to plot the mission. I stayed back, entranced by this different side of him. He took complete control of the mission and didn't allow for backtalk. The agents seemed to be very experienced in field work so they meshed well with the Captain. It made my anxiety lessen slightly. I wasn't sure why I felt anxious—Steve had done this for years. He'd single-handedly destroyed Hydra in the 40's.

My problem, I thought, seemed to lie with the fact that all I knew was nice, boy-next-door Steve. I hadn't had to deal with the Captain since West Point and I didn't remember much of that anyway. I wasn't sure what to make of this new side of him and I wasn't sure how to market it to the public. Dual personalities would clash in the media.

Sitwell came up next to me and the hairs on the back of my neck stood up. I had a feeling it was like a dog not linking a person. My dogs definitely wouldn't like this guy. "You think he's ready?"

I watched Steve closely, watched the way he stood and the matureness in his face. Up until that point he'd been bored and meant for nothing—but he was really meant for this. For missions, for the world. My heart swelled for an unknown reason. "He's not ready to put down the shield. He'll be a good asset to have back in the field."

The weasel man next to me just gave out a 'humph' in acknowledgement. "If this mission and a few other trials work, SHIELD wants to move him closer to headquarters."

It bothered me that they hadn't even asked his permission. Or mine, since I was technically a package deal. "Which is where, exactly?"

"D.C." He stared at me through those big, bottle-cap glasses like I was an annoying child. "You took the initial training courses, didn't you?"

"No offense," I said, obviously meaning offense, "but the royal 'you' haven't given me shit. I do what I'm told and go where I'm supposed to." _Like an obedient little soldier._ I usually didn't ask questions, either, since they never got me anywhere. Didn't mean it didn't hurt to ask though. "Since I'm never in any sort of loop, why am I _here_?"

"Fury wants you to start understanding what we do here. Not only are you a founding member, but you are an outside voice. The world looks to you for information on our heroes and our government. You obviously won't be able to tell everything…but the more you know, the more you can piece together something that makes sense."

I moreso believed that, the more they told me, the deeper of a hole I was being dug into. They wanted to make me feel some kind of attachment and make it so I physically couldn't leave. It made a rock settle in the pit of my stomach. "I'm not going, though, and me knowing is just a loose end."

Sitwell sighed. "He's your mark. You need to know where he is and he needs to be able to contact you with anything. You aren't going because Fury said that you're banned from missions but that doesn't mean that you shouldn't be able to help plan them. You're a good strategist and you're part of Roger's team."

Steve glanced up at me, a too-serious look in his eye. He looked back down for a split second before meeting my eyes again and smiling his Steve smile. The change left me reeling but I really was a part of his team. I'd leave the mission planning to him unless he asked me, though. It was _his_ team, not mine, and I wasn't going to step on his toes.

"How long do you think the mission will run?"

"Two weeks at most," Sitwell said.

 **1450 hours**

Tony, for once, was at Stark Tower. He'd been hiding out in Miami building dozens of Iron Man suits. At least that was what Pepper updated me with. It was nice that he was staying inside because, when he left, he inevitably made the news in some way. Even when he stayed home for a month something bad came up. I was dealing Jarvis to get the man to make some appearances but the AI told me that Tony wasn't up for sleeping, let alone going out to break ground on a new research facility he'd paid for.

That's why I was so surprised that he was waiting for Steve and me when we returned to our suite. He was at the never-used bar area pouring himself a drink. I stayed back out of habit.

"Hey, kids," he said with a distracted smirk, "good to see you. Long time no see."

Steve stepped in front of me, like protection. We'd been in the war room for hours and all we wanted was to order pizza and relax before he had to leave. It made me wonder if he knew about my alcohol problem or if it was because of Afghanistan. "Stark," Steve said hesitantly, "is there a problem?"

"Just that you're hogging the Avenger's PR agent," the man scoffed. He started sauntering down the stairs like he owned the place. _Oh wait…_ "There's a press conference in less than two weeks and I want you there. Hell, I want you to plan the thing. Did I mention that it's not even scheduled yet?"

Steve sighed and stepped out of my way when he realized that Tony wasn't a threat. "You did this for the Independence Day party, too. Give her a schedule or something, Stark."

"Isn't that her job, though? To make the schedule, I mean."

I laughed and followed Steve to the living area, finally sitting down after the long meeting of standing in the background and observing. "At least it's more than three days this time."

"You did a good job, by the way," Tony said. He followed us to the living room and sat. Steve didn't, acting like a big watch dog. "I really liked it. Very classy. Very charitable."

"You didn't give me much to go with, boss."

"The leg looked good up there. Well, so did you, but the leg, too. How's it fitting?"

I glanced down at it. It drew attention because of the noise but seemed to be doing well. "I'm not quite sure how to take care of it. Bruce has come by to make sure that there aren't any infections or anything. It's a little loud but it's better than any prosthetic I've ever had. Thank you."

"Well…I owe you." He was jittery and anxious. I wasn't sure if it was because he wasn't working on something or if it was because he felt awkward about owing his life to me.

I tapped the leg and said, "Not anymore. This is more than I could ask for."

"You sure? Anything else?"

My mind flashed to the business card that was in my bedside table drawer, right next to my bible. "Now that you say it… I might need a few days off after the press conference."

"Yeah? Going on vacation or something? You should take Pepper. She needs it."

"I don't think..."

"What is it that you girls like to do again? Get mani-pedis, have pillow fights...on second thought, could I come with you?" When I didn't come back with a sarcastic comment, he sobered up and stared at me. "What's up, soldier girl? Cap got you down? Bad publicity?" He sucked air in through his teeth. "Did I do something?"

"Family get-together." I felt only a little guilty lying. I'd been working practically every day for months on end and I wasn't even sure what my vacation schedule looked like. Campaigning for the Avengers was a twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week job. "Figured I'd tell you and Steve. I'm not sure how long it will last."

Steve stalked over to me, kneeling down next to the arm of the chair. His baby blue eyes were concerned and still a little bit full of Cap. "Everything okay? Do you need backup?"

 _Damn it, I can't lie to Steve._ I straightened my back and frowned, resolved to say this lie and not feel bad about it. His puppydog eyes made it that much harder. "I'll be fine. I'll be with family." _See, that wasn't a lie. Not technically._ "It could be through to the end of August but I think I'll be able to work from home. If there's any kind of catastrophe you all can contact me."

"That's a lot longer than a week," Tony said with a small frown gracing his face. "I don't think that Cap will make it two seconds in the media without you."

I ignored Tony and looked straight at Steve who was frowning as if he knew something was wrong. "You'll do just fine. I should be available via cell and computer if you desperately need me, okay?"

"Yeah, sure," Steve said softly, his eyes searching mine. "But will you be okay? You know I'm—we're...you know we're here for you, right?"

I smiled but knew that it hadn't reached my eyes. I wanted to reach up and placed my hand on his sculpted face but that would never fly. My hands stayed where they were. "Of course. That phone goes both ways. I'll let you guys know if I need you."

I'd never felt a bigger pit in my stomach for lying to someone. _It's just to talk to my brother's boss about maybe regrowing my leg. They'd want me to go if they thought it were possible. If I could ever tell them._ I still wondered how the hell I'd explain a new leg— _if_ the treatment worked in the first place.

* * *

 **Getting ready to move half-way around the country, so apologies for the lateness. There next two chapters will be uploaded a week apart and they're kind of my favorites so far.**

 **Also I shamelessly wrote a T'Challa romance. Chapter 1 of 3 is up now if any of you wanna go take a peek!**


	24. 9 August 2012, 1200 hours: Quinjet

**9 August 2012  
** **1200 hours  
** **Quinjet  
** **Somwhere Over Canada**

"Turn on the Stark press conference," Steve said as he finally relaxed after the adrenaline had poured out of his system. Not all of it, mind you, but most. One of the agents turned it on. The sound wasn't working at first but Steve didn't mind. He saw that Joan was talking at the podium, a serious expression on her face. _Although when is she not serious?_ She looked pretty. Her hair was pulled back into a low ponytail and she wore a dark lip like normal. Her suit was all business. There was a woman standing behind her. _Sharon? I think that was her name._ She was attractive in a stern business assistant kind of way.

The mission had been fine. Easy, even, once they'd found where Kraven had been located. Steve thought on the mission and on how much he missed being in the field as he watched Tony take Joan's place, the sound finally working in the jet. He started going on about a new line of mechanical prosthetics, using Joan as a model. Even from the television Steve could see her blushing as she was forced to walk in front of the podium to show the prosthetic beneath her knee-length skirt. She didn't usually blush. The calf of her real leg bunched strongly against the small pump she was wearing. He vaguely wondered when she had the time to work out to keep her muscular physique.

Steve held his shield in his hands, thinking back on all of the missions he'd ever been on. This one was nothing compared to those. He knew that SHIELD wanted to go easy on him; it was his first mission since he'd been unfrozen but he needed _more._ Obviously war had changed and he wasn't fighting directly in the War on Terror like he had during World War II, but he felt like he could do better with troops at his back rather than SHIELD agents who actually seemed more like babysitters than agents.

Something on the screen caught his attention. Joan looked like she'd shifted from serious PR agent to soldier. A voice called off-screen before the camera actually turned.

"Tony Stark! You claim to be about charity and goodwill and you even shut down your weapons line. What about the Iron Man suits? What have you done with those?"

A man wearing something similar to Tony's Iron Man suit but much less sleek stood behind the giant group of reporters around Stark Tower. Tubes came from a pack on his back to secure around his torso and arms, ending around large gauntlets on his hands. Steve wasn't so adrenaline-less anymore.

Joan stepped back to the podium, using it as a shield between Tony and the strange man. "Sir, I assure you that the suit is not for public use. Tony Stark uses _it_ , the one suit, to help the Avengers. The Avengers are only called in for extenuatin' circumstances to world security through SHIELD."

"I'm here to prove that my suit is better."

Panic started to settle into the crowd. Joan raised her hands to calm the audience. "Ladies and gentlemen, please, calm down. Mr. Stark doesn't even have his suit with him." Stark said something in her ear and Joan's face only twitched slightly into a frown. "And even if he did, he doesn't deal with domestic terrorists _._ "

"Get your suit, Stark," the man said, raising a hand. Something started glowing on his gauntlet. "You'll see Iron Man rendered obsolete. By the next generation in offensive weapons. By me…the Melter!" The man's gauntlet released a powerful energy above a terrified, fleeing crowd. One terrified news reporter captured the entire thing and wouldn't shut up. Steve just wanted to see what was happening to Joan! _Can't this plane go any faster?_

Joan pushed Tony to the ground along with the podium, using it as cover as the "Melter" spat flames in her direction. She peeked out and shot with a pistol that must've been hidden on her body.

The mission had been _so easy._ The hard part was watching Stark and Joan be attacked on national television and being helpless to stop it, being stuck on a jet and unable to help. Joan had been assigned to _Steve_ and so much bad had happened in her life. All Steve really wanted to do was protect her from anything else that might want to do her harm.

And oh, she didn't necessarily need protection. She was strong. He saw her exercising a few hours every day and she ate healthily. She could also fight, which showed as she tried to fend off the crazy villain. Nothing like that mattered when he spat flames from his arms, though.

Stark showed up in one of his Iron Man suits and fought back poorly. Steve lost Joan in the chaos going on around Tony but thought he saw her sneaking along behind the scuffle. The Melter was winning—Stark's suit wasn't meant for that kind of heat. At one point the Melter even managed to slice off the shoulder of Stark's suit, leaving his skin bare.

Joan was behind the Melter as the man was trying to land a death blow to Stark. She brought her prosthetic up and kicked the man hard in the power pack on his back, sending him to the ground with more force than Steve would have thought possible for a human. She stood over him, legs spread to straddle him as she held a gun to the man's face.

"Stay down or I will not hesitate to take you out."

"Captain Phillips," the man sneered. Some words were missed as the camera crew tried to still capture everything going on. "You refused to see my suit for what it was! You and the rest of those officers."

Joan seemed confused but tried to hide it on the outside. "I'm sure I have no idea what you're talkin' about." Tony was stumbling in the background, apparently having lost some power for his suit in the process of losing a lot of the machinery. "State your name and purpose."

"I'm the Melter, and in a few days I'll be selling my melting technology to the highest bidder. You, though…you're in my way." He raised a hand. She shot…and the gun exploded in her hands. Her body flew away, yards away, and the Melter stood to fight Stark once more. Steve hadn't realized he'd also stood up until one of the agents put a hand on his arm. He shrugged her off and gave her a glare.

She explained that they'd be back to New York in three hours. Then they needed to be debriefed. Then they could take him to her.

Steve didn't wait to be debriefed from the mission. He ran from the jet the second they landed. He rushed to the hospital, using the motorcycle he'd bought for himself after the Battle of New York to weave through traffic. They'd tried to stop him, tried to protest his leaving. But something inside him made him act like this was a mission that couldn't be failed. He didn't know why. They weren't exactly friends. But he felt like she was as lost as he was. In different ways, of course, but still lost.

He found himself sitting next to her hospital bed. Her hands were wrapped tightly, having taken the brunt of the gun's explosion. Her face was covered in cuts and bruises and her upper body was covered in a mix of mild to moderate burns. She was sleeping when he came in. They'd had to do surgery on her hands and arms to get the worst of the shrapnel out.

Sharon was just leaving when he arrived. "Captain Rogers," she said with a surprised look in her eye. He chose to ignore her blatant approval of him in his uniform (all women did that, he wasn't going to hold it against her) and nodded a "Ma'am' in her direction. "I didn't realize you were back from your mission."

Was she on SHIELD's payroll? Steve couldn't remember if he and Joan had talked about that. Not that they every talked about SHIELD much. She knew that he knew that she was supposed to be watching him but they usually steered clear of those topics. "Just landed twenty minutes ago. I saw what happened."

"She'll be okay," Sharon said with a small smile. She looked like she was going to reach out to comfort him but Steve was too full of adrenaline to let anyone touch him, let alone a woman he'd never met. "Hell of a concussion and her hands are going to take some time to heal, but she's as strong as she looks."

Steve frowned and bid the woman a kind of dismissive goodbye. He wasn't sure where Tony was but Cap was sitting by Joan's bedside in full tactical gear for hours before she woke up. She blinked her eyes a few times before trying to set her head up. Steve was standing up by then, hovering a hand over her shoulder to push her down if need be. "Don't try to move. You're hurt."

She licked her dry lips, now devoid of lipstick, and looked around. The room was high-tech and crazy expensive, all to Tony's tastes. "I've had worse." When she'd checked out her surroundings, making sure they were to her standards and safe, she finally saw him and looked him up and down. He felt only slightly self-conscious under her gaze which seemed appreciative. "Cap looks good on ya, Steve."

 _Cap?_ he wondered, using his shield to shield himself. "What's that mean?"

The medicine she was on must have loosened her tongue a little. "In my mind there's Steve and there's Cap. Steve is the one who smiles and laughs. Cap is the serious one." As she said this she lifted her arms slightly to look at her wrapped hands, hissing when the IV tugged. "Look what that little shit did to me."

Steve frowned and helped her sit her bed up a little further since she couldn't push the button. She hadn't been wearing armor. She'd seen what the Melter had done to Tony and yet she'd thought that she could subdue him? "It could have been a lot worse, Joan," Steve said tensely, not wanting to be angry but needing to get the point through.

"I was wearing Kevlar, I was fine."

He hated that she kept dismissing it. "You're human."

"So is Tony," she said, still staring at her hands. She looked up suddenly with an innocent, open expression that he was sure he'd never see again. "So are you."

He wanted to thank her for that little statement but was still too angry with her. She always put herself into trouble and it showed time and time again: in Afghanistan she'd pushed Tony out of the way of a bomb; at West Point she'd thrown herself on top of a cadet to protect her from a falling building; and now, she'd put herself in harm's way to stop a madman from not only hurting Tony but from hurting anyone else.

"Tony has a suit," Steve sighed, putting the shield to the side. Joan's eyes widened at the sight of it. "And I was made into the perfect soldier. I heal in minutes. He could have torn through you if he'd wanted. Instead he proved a point. Next time something like that happens, get to safety. Alright?"

"No promises there, Cap." She saluted him mockingly, a goofy grin on her face. He'd never seen her so loose before and it felt strange. "When am I gonna get to use my hands?" she asked distractedly, waving them in front of her face. She suddenly realized something and her face fell. She tried to lose the open expression and be her serious self but the meds were making it hard. "Shit, they have me on meds. Get me off of them _now._ "

She started panicking and Steve put a hand to her shoulder to hold her down. It obviously hurt her but she was going to hurt herself more by struggling. "Joan, stop. I'll call in a nurse but you just had surgery. You're gonna want the meds."

She stopped struggling. She looked up to him with eyes full of sadness and pain. He'd never seen her look so vulnerable—wearing a thin hospital gown, hair down around her shoulders, a small blanket covering her lower half. Her prosthetic wasn't on, obvious by the way the blanket fell. She didn't look small, necessarily—she was a strong and tall woman. But all of the factors made him want to protect her like she was some small child. She'd probably punch him out if not on the meds for that thought.

"I don't want the meds," she breathed, clenching her eyes as if the words caused her pain. "Please, Steve. I…I've had problems with pain medicine before. I don't want to relapse."

 _Problems…relapse?_ She'd never outright told him but he knew that she'd had problems with alcohol in the past. It was why she never drank and always seemed on edge whenever someone near her was drinking. And now it was with drugs. He realized that he didn't know this woman. She never opened up to him and when she did it was only bits and pieces of it. What else didn't he know about her?

Steve assured her that he was going to find a nurse to take her off the meds. As he was leaving, he looked over his shoulder to see her picking up something off the nightstand—a medallion of some kind. She clenched it tightly between her bandaged hands and a sob wracked her body. As he was closing the door behind him he heard the medallion hit the wall opposite her bed.

* * *

 **I'm not versed in AA rules, so if anything is wrong when it comes to this story please let me know!**

 **I posted my T'Challa romance and it's technically done if ya'll want a three-shot rather than the slow-burn here. Pure, unapologetic smut with the beautiful Black Panther.**

 **Lastly, thanks everyone for all of your comments, favorites, and follows! They warm my cold heart.**

 **\- LCB**


	25. 11 August 2012, 1300 Hours: Stark Tower

**11 August 2012  
** **1300 hours  
** **Stark Tower** **  
**

"I knew the bastard," I said from my place on Tony's work counter. "He tried to sell a suit like yours to the military but it backfired. I was there, it was catastrophic. He tried to get another meetin' with the Army after he claimed to have fixed it but we were forced to tell him no."

Tony was upgrading one of his not-damaged suits to withstand the heat that the Melter put out. The room was incredible and I was surprised he'd let me in there. Technically I wasn't allowed on any of the lab floors but the boss man made an exception that day...especially since he didn't like me out of his sight. "So what, he wants revenge on me instead? What the hell did I do to this guy?"

"You didn't do anythin'," I growled, glaring at my wrapped hands. It was almost impossible to get anything done. I couldn't even take care of myself, although Tony had convinced the hospital to let me out in exchange for the promise that I'd take it easy and let one of Tony's many employees help take care of me. "He wanted to attack you to sell his suit to the highest bidder because he used to run a startup that was destroyed after the government exiled him. He's dirt poor. To add onto that, he saw that I was workin' for you and wanted to kick my ass as much as yours. I was the one who had to tell him no multiple times."

The man of iron turned around to look at me seriously. I hated that look on his face. "You doing okay?"

I scowled and kicked out with his prosthetic, glad to have it back on. "Peachy." _Two days sober after a year of hard work._ I'd asked my sponsor what the protocol was for emergency medical care when it came to medication, but…I had to start over. I'd had a relapse, no matter that it wasn't my fault.* I'd been sober for most of the last three years but every so often I found myself slipping up. I'd become a drunk after Riley had died. I'd overcome that. I'd become a drunk again after Leo had been lost overseas. I'd overcome that. I'd become addicted to drugs _and_ alcohol after losing my leg. I'd overcome that, too. This one, though… _it isn't my fault._

"You and Cap okay?"

My head snapped up at that. "Yeah, why?" Steve was gone on another mission already. The first had only been a test, apparently. That one had been easy, according to the man out of time. The next one was more in-depth and required him to go undercover. _As if a six-foot-three, two-hundred and fifty pound man isn't hard to spot._ Would I be that worried every time he went out on a mission? I hoped not.

"No reason," Stark said quickly, ducking back under his armor. "Jarvis, update on the Patty-Melt." I rolled my eyes at his nickname for the new "unmelting" armor. Using recordings and blast radiuses and seeing the scorch marks on the Iron Man suit, Tony had devised a formula to discover what technology and heat the Melter used in his gauntlets. Then he was able to build a new alloy on his suit to keep the Melter from winning the next time they met.

"Another failure, sir. I've updated the metal's composition and am running the tests again."

"Seriously," I said after Jarvis said a lot of engineering mumbo jumbo. "Why would Cap and I have a problem?"

"He just...he was pretty worried about you after it all. He didn't leave your bedside and he rushed there as soon as his jet landed. I'm not one to talk about workplace relations but…"

I shook my head, confused and surprised. "There's nothing between me and Steve." It was flattering, to be honest. He was so out of my league that it was laughable. Had I thought about it before, watching him as he worked with children or when he was working out? Hell yes. He was so attractive that sometimes I felt embarrassed to even look at him for fear of letting out a moan or feeling something stir deep down. "He was just concerned. I work with him every day, I'd hope that he would be at least a little worried about me."

I heard something that sounded like _a little more than worried_ come out under his breath.

"Do you have somethin' to say to me, Stark? Speak up." Two months ago I would never have dared to speak to my boss like that. After saving his life a few times and getting into the dirty knowledge of what it was like to be an Avenger, I knew how I needed to speak to him to get any kind of information. "Stop walkin' on eggshells around me."

"There's just been speculation." He threw some stuff up to a holographic monitor, images coming to life before my very eyes. "Pepper and I like to gossip a little. And, you know, so does the entire world."

I flushed when I realized what it was. I'd seen them before of course—images of Cap and I out and about New York. After events I'd set up we would go to lunch or dinner. I'd take him out to experience something he'd never experienced before…and there were always pictures. Steve thought that just wearing a baseball cap and a pair of glasses hid him from the world but no, they definitely did not.

The images on the screen were kind of damning, at least towards what Stark and I were talking about. One was a gossip rag that I wouldn't even use as kindling. It showed a picture of me reaching out to touch Steve's hand at some diner we'd stopped at after a photo shoot. He was smiling sweetly and I was laughing. Another picture showed him wrapping his arm around my shoulders. I couldn't remember why he'd done it but I did remember blushing down to my toes. I could still remember his warmth and muscles and wanting him to do it again.

"You know better than I do that those aren't real news sources." Half the time I didn't care what was in those magazines as long as they didn't say stupid things like _'Cap back in the party scene!'_ or _'I slept with the Hulk and this is what I found'_. As long as the articles weren't damning it didn't matter. Steve and I weren't a thing—and, even if we were, it wouldn't be a bad relationship so it wouldn't need to be hidden from the press. "Next week they'll think that Banner and Natasha are dating. It's nothing."

"Hmm." He let it drop, which I was grateful for. I wasn't grateful for: "So what happened to your time off?"

My stomach ached from lying to him. "Don't want the family to see me like this." My mom had called, freaked out after seeing the news replaying the incident. "I'll get to go eventually." Then mom had told Sam and Sam had told my brothers. Kenton was the only one who'd known before the others (because he worked for SHIELD) and he'd gotten an earful from Mom. My dad was the only one who hadn't freaked out, just sending a badly-worded text saying that I'd handled the situation well. (He'd obviously used voice-to-text on his smart phone.)

Tony looked like he was going to ask something else when his phone rang. _"Better watch your back and cover your tracks, kick your foot through the door, hit the deck know the score!"_

"Aren't you gonna answer it?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

He held up a finger. "Wait for it."

 _"War Machine! War Machine!"_

He rocked out to the song for a second before he finally picked up. Rhodey appeared on one of the screens that Cap and I had been on. "What's up, honeybear?"

I wanted to laugh at the nickname until I heard Rhodey's ragged breathing and the whirring of damaged motors. He looked a little worse for wear. "Not the time, Tony. You remember your friend the Melter? Well, he got me."

I stood up as Tony jumped to his feet. "Dammit. Are you okay? How's the suit?"

"The suit's damaged. Not as badly as yours was a few days ago. He said something about a bidder wanting to make sure it worked on War Machine, too. It turns out it does."

I pulled out my Stark phone and was ready to contact SHIELD. "Where are you at, Rhodes? I'll send an extraction team."

"No need. I'm here."

Rhodey fell through the launch pad that was attached to that lab. Stark and I rushed to grab him. We pulled him from the suit, Tony analyzing the damage while I pulled the soldier to sit down. "Stark where's your first aid kit?" I asked when I saw the blood coming down James's forehead.

"On the wall by the door." I grabbed it and sprinted back to the man.

James allowed me to step between his legs and assess the damage to his head. I soaked a cloth with some rubbing alcohol and then dabbed it on his forehead. He hissed between his teeth. "What the hell happened, Rhodes?"

He looked up to me with his attractive brown eyes and sighed, obviously relieved to be somewhere safe. "Similar to what happened to you. I was doing a weapons demonstration with the Marines. Somehow he found out where we were."

"I heard about that," I said as I dabbed at the few cuts and bruises along his jaw and neck. "They were supposed to be getting some new UAV software. Were you just there to look good?"

James smiled in that cute way of his and reached up to touch one of the healing scratches on my cheek. "Still have contacts in the service, huh?"

I smiled a little, glad for some human contact for once in my life. "Yeah." I wasn't sure if he was being flirty or just friendly but I wasn't going to push away someone's gentle touch.

"They wanted me there to represent the strength of the government or something equally as stupid." James was pretty built for his older age. He was stability and safety which is what my life felt like it needed. "We would have taken the software anyway. But somehow the Melter figured out where I was."

"I mean, I figured it out and I'm not actively listenin' to open channels," I offered up. He hissed as I took out some antibiotic cream and smeared it along his open wounds. "I don't think it'd be too difficult to do some readin' and find out where War Machine is gonna be."

"What's the damage?" Rhodes asked, peering around my body to look at Tony. I didn't bother looking back because James needed tending. I was almost done anyway.

"Like you said, similar. Not as bad as mine but enough to knock you on your ass. I'm working on a Melter-proof material right now."

"What do we know about the guy?" James asked, grunting as I placed some butterfly bandages across the large laceration on his forehead. It was actually kind of difficult to do with my hands all wrapped.

Tony must have gestured. "Ask Captain Marvel over there."

I scoffed and asked, "Is that supposed to mean me?" When he didn't answer I turned back to Rhodes and checked him out from head to foot. "I met the guy once. You might've been there, too. I can't remember his name but I already told Tony about his failed attempt to sell the government a weapon a few years back. He's bitter and poor and desperate."

"So he'll try anything." James smiled and stood up, thanking me with a wink. "That means we just have to upgrade our suits and find him."

I looked over to Tony who was pulling something out of a smelter in the back of the room. "Already ahead of you. Let's make it interesting though." We waited for him to finish his statement as he sent Jarvis to do some work on the Iron Man suit. "First one to find him gets his new suit polished by the loser."

Rhodey smiled. I felt a little left out as Tony's best friend said, "Deal."

* * *

 ***This could be totally wrong. I have no knowledge of AA meetings or most of the rules and I can't really find any. Even though it wasn't Joan's fault for relapsing, she was given drugs. Even if it isn't an AA rule, it would be a rule for Joan.**

 **Also I love me some Rhodey. He's not the LI for this story but he likes to flirt like any red-blooded man. Especially a man who doesn't have a cannon LI *cough* Captain Marvel *cough*.**


	26. 12 August: 'Point'

**12 August 2012  
** **0020 Hours  
** **Abandoned Factory**

The factory we traced the Melter's auction to was old and dilapidated. The auction wasn't set to start until two in the morning, meaning we had a little while until many of the world's worst criminals showed up to start bidding on the weapon.

We entered through a back loading bay, the two suits of armor surprisingly quiet in the din of the abandoned factory. In fact, my leg made more noise than both Tony and Rhodes combined. "You're gonna have to put a silencer on this thing," I hissed in Tony's direction.

He chuckled into my earpiece which I had to use since both the suits had communication systems in them already. "It's in its beta phase."

"Well this fish is gonna get us caught."

"You didn't have to come."

I glared in his direction. "Like hell I _wasn't_ comin'!"

"Ya'll both are gonna get us caught if you don't shut up." Rhodes wasn't one to fool around during a mission. "Split up and try to find this guy. I've got a score to settle."

Tony said through the com system, "No need to split up, I scanned the building already. Isn't that how horror movies start?"

I flexed my aching hands around the grip of my gun. Simple .22 but enhanced to _not_ be blown up by the Melter's weapon. The tender, stiff flesh of my hands didn't need another repeat of that explosion. "Before we just jump him, I've got an idea."

"Attack?" Rhodes asked.

I rolled my eyes. "No. You two stay back. Let me talk to him."

War Machine's armored hand landed on my shoulder. He made me stop and look him in the mask, at least until the mask lifted to show the stern face beneath it. Handsome, but stern. "Like hell. You saw what he did to the suits. He'd do worse to you."

"I don't think so." I was good at reading people. It was a good trait to have as a PAO. "I think that he's got pride. I might need to make it up on the fly. I might challenge him to a duel. No powers, no suits. In fact…you both stay here."

"What?!" Tony asked incredulously, suddenly appearing next to us. He stood in my way and, if I'd been able to see his face, I was sure that it would be angry and confused. As it was his mask didn't convey anything. "Do you _want_ Captain AARP to kill me when he gets back?"

I frowned at Tony's nickname for Steve. "He wouldn't kill you. He'd chastise me for sure but you probably won't be here for him to murder you. Now…point me in the right direction."

The Melter was, unsurprisingly, in a room with a shit ton of smelters. The heat made my skin itch and my tender hands burn but I pushed forward. He didn't even realize I was there until I cleared my throat and he turned around.

Bruno Horgan wasn't an ugly man. Six foot, less than two-hundred pounds, handsome brown eyes and brown hair. Average, really. He had the melter weapon on a pedestal in the center of the room, no security whatsoever.

"Bruno," I said softly, my voice echoing in the large metal cavern.

He jumped around, his eyes wild as he reached for the weapon. " _Phillips!_ "

"I'm alone," I said softly, trying to appear unmenacing. "We need to talk."

He laughed. It was almost hysterical. "You came _alone_? Stupid girl, the Melter will tear you apart!" He picked up the clunky piece of metal that tore two Avengers apart just a little while before and started fitting it to his arm. "You _ruined_ me. You destroyed my livelihood!"

"Stop _whining_ ," I groaned, holstering my pistol. "There are millions out there who have it worse than you." I didn't think he'd attack a woman, let alone an amputee, let alone someone who _didn't have a weapon._ "I've lost loved ones overseas. I've drowned myself in alcohol and pain meds and I lost a _limb_. I've got a shit ton more to hate on in life than you've got in your left pinky. Get over yourself."

"I can't! The government won't take me seriously anymore thanks to you!"

"Then find something new."

He stared at the contraption on his arm that was slowly firing up. The hairs on the back of my neck started prickling. "No." It was whispered but just loud enough to hear over the machinery. "No. I think I'll make an example of you. A testament to my power. And I'll use this as my way of starting something _new_ as you put it."

 _"That's our cue."_ I cursed as Tony and Rhodey flew in and stopped the man from frying me to a crisp. Rather, Bruno was a crisp after the two friends were done with him.

"I had that," I sighed through the earpiece. They fought and it didn't take long. The melter's powers had no chance against Tony's upgrades. Shield swarmed the group not long after.

"You weren't cleared for field work, Phillips," my assistant said in a huff. She looked frazzled. I only felt bad for a second before I remembered that she was one of their lackeys keeping an eye on me. Like _I_ was the bad guy.

"I knew this guy. It was an Avengers mission and Tony asked me along."

Her petal lips frowned. Sharon actually looked a little menacing when she did that…but not a lot. "Tony asked you along because he feels guilty, not because he thought you could help."

Said man in armor appeared next to me, placing a heavy hand on my shoulder before I decked the woman in front of me. "Whoa, slow your roll, Lucy."

"It's Sharon."

"Whatever. Look, Joan was just our distraction. Easy peasy, got in, got the bad guy, no one got hurt…this time."

I shrugged Tony off and gave him an angry glare as I stormed out of the SHIELD-swarmed warehouse.

 **13 August 2012  
** **0302 hours  
** **Stark Tower**

He should have been exhausted. His mission had kept him up for over seventy-two hours. But he had too much adrenaline built up. His knee kept bouncing and his mind wouldn't shut off. So he went to the gym. A good pounding of the treadmill or punching a few bags into dust sometimes helped to fix his issues. Sometimes. And heck, sometimes it helped him sleep even.

But the gym wasn't empty when he got there. Joan was there in nothing but what seemed to be her underwear. He felt himself flushing before he managed to avert his eyes. But the image of her perfectly toned, tan body wouldn't leave his mind. A small pair of black underwear rode high on her hips, topped with a white band. Her large chest had been pulled into a tight half-tanktop that left her midriff exposed.

He noticed that the leg was missing. He heard her grunting as she swung herself between the gymnastics bars, her one foot pointed as her muscles bent and bulged to force herself against gravity.

Eventually he couldn't help but watch. It was majestic watching her in peak human form (well, as peak as she could get without the super soldier serum), and seeing her work out her frustrations in such a beautiful way.

Joan dismounted with two backflips and landed a little shakily on just one leg. She was breathing heavily and didn't notice him until he made some kind of approving noise. "Sorry," he said when he startled her, "I'll go to the other gym."

"No, stay," she said as she hopped over to a seat and grabbed a towel. She ran it along the back of her neck and pushed her long ponytail out of the way. "I could use a sparrin' partner."

Steve looked at the clock and realized that it was three in the morning. He started taking off his gear and wondered if she ever slept. "It's a little early for the gym."

"Speak for yourself," she grumbled, not light-heartedly.

He frowned and looked a little closer at her face. Dark circles, gaunt cheeks. "Couldn't sleep?" She'd asked him that same question what felt like years ago at West Point.

"Some nights the demons yell louder than others." He couldn't argue with that. "At any rate, beating you to a pulp will make me feel at least a little better."

He wanted to laugh at her but she was serious. "I can't go full-out with you, Joan. I'd break you in half."

"I'm not saying go full-out," she scoffed, patting her stump, "I'm saying that you can't treat warriors any different based on what you see. We're gonna do some strategic fightin'. Ask any of the SHIELD lackeys I've been kickin' around lately. The leg psyches people out. Makes them weak. Captain America can't be weak." She said that last part with a small, sad smile.

He'd sparred with Natasha before, similarly. She'd used dirty tricks like pretending to be hurt or seducing him. It was always a tough fight. With Joan, he knew she was strong. He just watched her fling her body weight around like it was nothing. He'd seen her kick hundreds of pounds of machinery to the ground. But he wasn't sure she knew how to fight someone twice her weight and eight times stronger than herself.

He wasn't going to insult her by not trying, though. "Yeah, alright. I could use a distraction." Not that her in practically nothing wasn't a distraction.

As she put her prosthetic back on, he watched the way the muscles of her back worked. He noticed scarring along her abdomen and thighs. And he wanted to hit himself for staring so closely at a colleague.

Her voice brought him out of his embarrassment. "How'd the mission go?"

Steve coughed to clear his dry throat and took off the jacket of his costume, leaving him in the combat pants and a white t-shirt. He'd kicked off his boots earlier so as to even the playing field. "Got the information. Stopped the bad guys."

"Classified, huh?" She smiled and stood up, stretching her arms over her head. His mouth went dry at the expanse of flesh she showed off.

"Y-yeah," he muttered as he made his way over to the sparring mat, his back to her. "How do you wanna do this? Probably should start off with just a point-based system…"

Suddenly she was sitting on his shoulders, knees tight around his head before she twisted and he lost his sense of balance, falling to the mat. She rolled away gracefully and landed on her feet, smiling in a way that made his pants tighten just a little. "Point"

He widened his eyes and jumped to his feet in one motion. Steve studied her as they circled one another. She casually walked around him, doing the same. He could see the calculations happening behind her dark eyes, see the way she studied him like a panther stalking its prey. Just as his eyes flickered to her feet—one mechanical, one flesh—she two-stepped and pounced.

He dodged out of the way and gave a solid _thump_ to the center of her shoulderblades. "Point," he said as she turned quickly, a smirk on her face.

She sauntered close, a hand held up in between them. He came close enough that her palm landed on his chest and raised an eyebrow at her. Joan's eyes narrowed and she fisted her hand in his shirt, throwing her elbows towards his face. He ducked and she pulled his shirt over his head, effectively blinding him while she threw herself on his back. She man-handled the shirt to pull it tight against his face as her knees dug into his ribs.

Steve tore the shirt was greeted with her arms wrapped around his neck. "Point," her voice breathed into his ear. He went rigid, acutely aware that her tight body was glued to his back. The soldier in him knew that he couldn't let her get to him. He fought Natasha all the time, she used the same tactics…unfortunately, he wasn't used to them working.

So he threw himself to the ground, her body making a sickening thud beneath him as she let go, losing her breath. She gasped for air and rolled to avoid his foot going for her stomach. "Point."

They traded blows back and forth. He didn't allow himself to get distracted, actually surprised at the power behind her blows. She definitely had a broken or bruised rib from their fall but she brushed it off like it was a bug bite. He decided then to take her a little more seriously. Apparently she'd been practicing with SHIELD recruits and even with Natasha for a while. He could see a mix of Natasha's style, a little Hawkeye, and Joan's own personal one.

As he dodged a shot at his ribs, he was actually surprised that she got a shot in to his face. He felt the sting of blood as she cracked open his cheek right under the eye. Even Joan stepped back and looked astounded at herself for a moment. "Uh…point?"

He placed a hand to his cheek and pulled back blood. Her mechanical leg whirred and flared a little. "You really needed to blow off steam, huh?"

"Yeah, you did too apparently." She rubbed a hand over her very bruised waist and let out a shallow breath. "Now stop dodgin' and playin' point-tag and throw some hits."

Steve dodged a well-aimed roundhouse kick to his face and grabbed her prosthetic as it was going down. He felt almost sick as he twisted her to the floor and knelt on her back. "I don't want to hurt you. Point."

The prosthetic whirred to life and burned the heck out of his hands. He snatched them away in shock as she used her free metal leg to kick him half-way across the room. "You, SHIELD, even Tony and Rhodey won't stop pussyfootin' around me. I'm a soldier, dammit! Point!"

Steve pulled himself out of the hole he'd created in the wall and stared pointedly at her. He made a calculated move forward, aware of her anger and hoping to calm her down. "I heard about the Melter. What the hell, Joan?"

She startled at his use of a curse word but quickly resumed trying to hit him. It turned into a boxing match until he got a hit in to her uninjured side. "Oh I dare you to say it," she growled when he attempted to say 'point'. "I'm a soldier, trained and battle-ready. I had him and they treated me like a damsel in distress!"

One of her uppercuts gave her too much momentum. He used that force to trip her and wrestle her to the ground, her head making impact with the mat harder than he would have liked. Her tight little butt pushed up against his groin and he had to hold back another cuss word as he bit his tongue hard enough to bleed. Still, he held her down and held her strong but somehow still soft body to his.

He grasped her still-healing hands harshly and she hissed. "These," he said with a squeeze, "say otherwise. You're human, Joan. Know your limitations."

As if she knew just how human _he_ was, Joan bucked her hips back against him and he couldn't help but let out his own groan. "Yeah, so are you, Lancelot. We've had this discussion, remember?"

"Yeah," he breathed in her ear, "but you didn't seem to remember the dialogue." He brought her fingers up to his cheek which was already healed. He imagined that there was probably a little pink scar left but it would be gone in minutes. "When you can heal this fast, let me know."

She tapped the mat so he rolled to his feet and offered her his hand. She swatted it out of the way and stood, limping to the sidelines to collapse on a bench in exhaustion. Her waist was a sickening black and green, her ribs either bruised or broken. There were bruises all up and down her arms and legs and his stomach dropped when she spat out blood.

"I knew this was a bad idea," he said as he picked up the torn pieces of his shirt. "Jarvis, get someone from medical up here to look at Joan."

The AI droned a sincere, "Yes Captain, Stark paramedics will be up momentarily."

"I'm fine," she snapped but he knew she was lying. "Belay that order Jarvis."

Steve marched over to her and knelt between her bruised thighs. He could practically see his handprints there. "Look at you, you look like you were dropped off a cliff. Jarvis…"

"Five minutes." The AI was never off on his ETA's.

Joan tried to slap him away but he grasped her wrists and looked into her eyes. Even in pain, her chocolate orbs could stop him in his tracks. It took him a little too long to speak but he finally was able to get the words out. "You're not an Avenger, Joan. You're not a SHIELD agent."

"Don't you think I know that?" she sighed. "I'm a nobody. I'm your fuckin' babysitter, if anythin'."

"Language," he scolded, rubbing the protruding bones of her delicate wrists. "I'm not saying that. Stop twisting my words! I'm saying that what we fight here is totally different than on the warfront. We fight super-human enemies that can't be beat by normal means, guns or fists or otherwise. You're not weak and you're not less of anything just because you're missing a leg. To someone like Loki, though? You're just a bug on a windshield."

There were tears in her eyes but she blinked them away. "Stop," she whispered, trying to get out of his grip. It was a weak attempt though.

"You never met him, but there was this guy. Coulson. He was just like you, trained, smart, ready to take on the bad guy. He helped us in the end but he gave up his life. Is that what you want to do? Dying is easy. Living is harder, Joan, and you can't just throw away your life because you have some hero complex. You have family. Think of how you felt when Riley died."

" _Stop!_ " she shouted, her unshed tears still just clinging to her lower lashline. She snatched her hands from him finally and pushed him backwards. He managed to stumble to his feet. "You don't get to talk about him. You don't know me, Rodgers, and you sure as hell don't know what I've been through."

"I'm trying to know you!" he shouted in her face as she stood up. "You keep pushing me away, just like you do everyone else!"

"Your job isn't to know me," she whispered as she limped towards the elevators. Just as he tried to stop her, they opened to reveal a medical team. "My job is to know _you_ and that's all it's gonna amount to."

"We've got it from here," a woman said to him but he could only nod. Joan never looked at him as she was led out of the gym.

It took three months before he saw her again.


	27. 20 August, 1030 Hours: 'Rebranding'

**20 August  
** **1030 hours  
** **AIM Institute** **  
**

I was relatively surprised at the expense AIM put into their building. I was used to the extravagance of Stark Tower but I never realized that Tony's competition could have the same overindulgence. Tech companies could afford to do that, I assumed.

"Captain Phillips?" a man's voice asked. I stood (with a wince seeing as how I had two broken ribs) and greeted him as he held out a hand for me to shake. Extremely handsome, bright blue eyes and what used to be blonde hair that was shaved incredibly short. Obviously ex-military by his stance and handshake. "Eric Savin, we've been expecting you." There was a pulse of heat from his strong hand against mine but I brushed it off as nerves.

"Good. Marine?"

He smirked and his eyes twinkled a little. My cold heart fluttered a little at that. "Army. Lieutenant Colonel. "

I smiled similarly. "Hooah, soldier. Tell me, what's a man like you doin' in a place like this?"

He started walking towards a set of elevators so I followed, marking exits and watching his movements as I followed. As much as I trusted my brother, I wasn't so sure I trusted the product he and his people were selling. "You flirting with me, Captain?"

"Not at all soldier, just tryin' to get some information. It all seems too good to be true and you know what they say about that."

As the elevator doors closed to only have us two in there, he turned to me and looked at me seriously. There was a heat in his eyes that frightened me. "This is the real deal, Cap. Your brother says that you're a good fit for this program. Let's just say that I was too."

I tried to ask questions but the doors opened. I clutched my coat tighter to my midsection and followed the ex-soldier out of the elevator and into a sterile medical room. He left me with a nurse that left me with a cotton robe to change into.

My body was telling me to run. Who knew what these people wanted to do with me? Parker was smart but he probably was trying to create zombies or another Hulk! My brain wouldn't let me stop thinking about that video he showed me, though. If it were possible for me to grow back my leg…

Another very attractive man came into the room. Thick blond hair, ice blue eyes, and a jawline that could kill. Once he smiled with straight teeth, I wondered why AIM got all the good ones. "Aldrich Killian," he said as I made to stand up. I couldn't help a groan as I stood to greet him. "Are you alright?"

"Broken ribs," I groaned with a pained smile. He frowned and ushered me back into a reclined position on the medical bed. While fancier than a hospital, the place still made my skin crawl. "Decided to do some sparring with a guy a lot bigger than me."

"Hopefully you got some hits in," he replied as he started readying some supplies.

"I definitely did." His name sounded familiar. I was letting his looks and the pain distract me. "You're Parker's boss, right?"

I could practically hear the smirk he was giving off even though his back was to me. "Yes and I'm very happy he's directed you towards my program. What all has he told you about us?"

For once my brain worked faster than my mouth did. _"…when you talk to my employer, you don't tell him that I showed you this video. You just know about a rehabilitation program through AIM that I told you about, alright?"_ "Just that you have a rehabilitation program for amputees. He wanted me to come in and see if I was a candidate."

The man's shoulders visibly relaxed. I bit my cheek a little as he turned with a needle and some tubes. "Good. I hope it's alright if I start a physical on you? We need to make sure that medically you're able to complete the program."

"Right," I said lowly, watching as he expertly applied the butterfly IV to a vein in the crease of my elbow. "…So, on top of CEO, can I call you 'doc' as well?"

He chuckled and started busying himself around the room. "Yes, I hope you're fine with this. You signed all the documentation before coming up here?"

I nodded and watched him. Something didn't feel right. Besides the fact that my brother told me to _lie_ , _(_ Parker lied like a kid who had his hand stuck in a cookie jar) this guy and his other attractive friend both acted like this was God's gift to earth when in fact it seemed more like _playing_ God. I couldn't _not_ see where it went, though.

After some touching and prodding and lots of blood being taken, he asked me if it was alright to take off my prosthetic. I'd purposefully left the mechanical leg at Stark Towers because I was ninety-eight percent sure that Stark put a homing beacon in it. This one was my regular, ill-fitted, uncomfortable plastic leg.

"I've got it," I replied curtly, pulling it and the internal sock off before pulling up my robe a little. Killian knelt before me and looked up at me in question. I avoided his gaze and nodded. Smooth, warm fingers grazed my stump and I clenched my eyes shut.

"Is this alright?" he asked me in that deep voice of his.

"Not really but I don't have a choice. I need to be in this program. I need to get over this." I thought back to the video that Parker showed me. "I…I don't want my injury to beat me anymore."

I opened my eyes to see Aldrich smiling at me. That smile was gorgeous and I felt myself blush. "Wonderful. It will be a while for the blood results to come back but only have one more question for you. Have you ever had an addiction problem?"

My blood ran cold. _Shit. I knew this was too good to be true._ "Yes. But I've been sober for almost three years now. I lost someone close to me and drank and then I lost my leg and got hooked on the pain meds." I chose to leave out the recent injury that left me with no consent to drugs since that wasn't my fault. "I'm not even on meds for the broken ribs because I know better."

"Really?" He stood and pulled my robe down for me. Then his ice blue eyes met mine and I could see that same fire in his eyes that had been in Eric's. "Spectacular. Well then, Captain Phillips—"

"Joan."

Aldrich smiled and put away some of the equipment he'd been using. "Joan. I don't have anything else for you until your test results come back. We'll be calling you within the day to confirm your spot in the program. I'll leave you to get dressed."

There was still a small sliver of me that didn't want anything to do with this, but it had mostly been taken over by the curiosity of what the _hell_ was going on. And then the want to grow back a leg, of course.

I changed back into my clothes and was escorted out by Eric again. "How do you think it went?"

"Not sure, actually. Used to have a drinking problem, hoping it doesn't ruin my chances."

"Just makes you that much stronger in my eyes but it does take a lot of discipline to be in this thing."

We walked towards the front doors of the extravagant building and I held my hand out to him. "If there's anything I have, it's discipline. Thanks for the escort, Eric, I look forward to seeing you again."

His handshake lingered a little too long. "Likewise. Take care."

As I turned to leave, I almost turned back around to run inside. But it was too late. "Joan?"

I turned back around and put on what I assume was a really nervous smile. I even did finger guns. _Finger guns!_ "Rhodey," I drawled as he saddled up to me in his usual swagger. "What the hell are you doin' in a place like this?"

His eyes narrowed and I knew that I'd been caught. "I could ask you the same question."

Luckily, I had a backup plan that I knew would work and check out. "Brother works here. Just comin' to visit. You here for the Chair Force or…?"

Rhodey seemed to take my half-truth and joke and let me off the hook. "Shut up, trench monkey. Yeah, apparently War Machine needs a makeover. Something about bad PR…" His look made me actually laugh.

"Sorry," I sighed once I was able to stop, "it's not my fault though. You're literally a walkin' tank, it's gonna be taken badly. A rebrand might be just what you need. Although I have no clue what poor Tony is gonna do with his ringtone for you after this."

'War Machine' laughed right along with me. "I swear, he lets it ring until the chorus every single time before he answers. Anyway, I better get going before I'm late for this meeting. Hope you enjoyed your time with your brother. I'll see you around?"

"Actually," I said before he walked off in his uniformed glory, "I'm takin' time off for a while. I'll still be checkin' my email and workin' from home, but I've got family issues I've gotta take care of. Hopefully it won't take long."

His face fell and I could tell that he was trying to calculate probability in his brain again. I hoped that I didn't put him on my scent. "Right. Well I hope everything turns out fine and I'm sure I'll see you when you're back."

I gulped, knowing very well that this project might kill me. "You definitely will."

I somehow knew that he wasn't gonna let it go that easy.

 **21 August  
** **2134 hours  
** **Secret AIM Warehouse** **  
**

"Get over yourself. I'm wearing a bra, idiot."

Parker averted his eyes from his little sister's body. "I'm your older brother and this is just gross."

The warehouse looked very similar to the one in the video he'd shown his sister. While he was incredibly terrified, (he'd read the disclaimers she'd have to sign and there were all kinds of ways she could die,) he knew his little sister and knew that she was incredibly strong and perfect for the program. He'd worked on it for years. He'd seen men and women die from an adverse reaction to the virus but he'd also seen them ten times stronger with regrown limbs. And his sister needed both.

It would help if the program required her to wear a shirt and pants but that was beside the point. Aldrich Killian was strapping her in, his hands lingering a little too long. "That sparring seems to have done a little more damage than you let on." Green and purple bruises littered her entire body.

"Yeah sis," Parker said as he calibrated the injector. He couldn't get it wrong. If he did…well, Killian shouldn't have Parker working on his sister in the first place. "You look like the Hulk threw you around Manhattan."

She glared at him but there was a bright hope behind her eyes. He hadn't seen that since she'd broken it off with Leo right before he went missing on some super-secret mission overseas. Then bad thing after bad thing had happened to her and she deserved a shining light in her life for once. The least he could do for her was help create a serum that grew back limbs, right? Besides, it was freaking _awesome._

"Did you get into a scuffle with Thor or something? Because you were the boxing champion at West Point and you wouldn't just let someone kick you around. They better look worse."

She snorted in derision. "Yeah. Something like that."

Parker pulled out the video camera that he'd used with dozens of other candidates and prayed that his sister would live past this. Killian asked, "Is there anything you'd like to say before your life is changed for good?"

Joan's bright brown eyes looked up into the camera. Parker started having second thoughts but pushed them back. He and Killian had had a long, intensive talk over Joan's blood samples….which had turned out to be strange. She already had some of the healing factors from Extremis in her system. He thought it was a fluke at first but studied it more…and it looked a lot like some kind of super soldier blood cells.

Without telling his boss, Parker did a study of his own blood cells too. And he had the same microscopic hint of super cells in him, too. It explained why he healed so fast after all of those lab explosions and never got sick…or how none of the kids ever got sick. It was a question to ask his dad at a later time.

Anyway, they tested the virus with Joan's blood and it reacted splendidly. Even better than it had worked with Killian's blood five years ago. So Killian was extremely excited to make this work. It would work. There was only an eighteen percent chance it wouldn't and that was incredibly low for this experiment.

"Yeah," she said softly. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "My life…I thought it ended when I lost my leg. A lot of bad stuff led up to it and…I just need to start new. I need a new me. And if this works…well, thanks for the science fiction, Parker." Her eyes were so hopeful and the only think Parker could think of was what he was going to tell his mother if she died.

Aldrich smiled and put a hand on Joan's shoulder. Parker bristled at it but held in his inner-older brother. "Alright. Shall we?"

Everything was procedure at that point. Parker, who Killian assumed didn't have super genes, was put behind a steel wall in case…well, in case it all went wrong. Not that it would! Parker was too smart for anything to go wrong.

Killian stopped Parker form hitting the button that would inject the serum into his sister. "I've got this. I don't want you to blame yourself if anything happens."

Parker was surprised that Killian let him work with his sister anyway. But this proved that he was a good boss only looking out for his head engineer. "Thanks. I know it'll work though." He couldn't look as Killian hit the switch.

Joan didn't even flinch as the serum entered her system. She grunted and her eyes clenched as the accelerated formula took effect. Killian's formula took three days as it practically opened his body like a scab and rebuilt all of his internal organs. The new formula…well, all of that agony was wrapped up into a terrifying twenty minutes if it worked…and less than five if it didn't.

The heat started building in her body until he heard her cry out. Parker tried to run to her, to protect his little sister, but Killian put his arm out and gave him a look that meant business. "If it fails, she knew the consequences. Can you do this?"

Parker swallowed through the lump in his throat and watched his sister until he physically couldn't anymore. Until she glowed as bright as the sun. "I don't know."

"Can she?"

Parker was about to answer but Joan's voice cut him off. "Mother _fucker!_ "

He laughed nervously and said, "She can do anything."

That's how his sister grew her leg back and became the strongest Extremis soldier to date.


End file.
